


31 Days Of Pain

by AuroraKant



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, At least in Chapter 6, Attempted Sexual Assault, Dick grayson centric, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Random OCs - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Whump, Whumptober 2019, a bunch of bad guys, dumb desicions, tags get updated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 81,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: Dick Grayson never catches a break.This Whumptober collection of Dick Grayson-centric short stories showcases just that: If alone or with friends or family, Dick is going to suffer.





	1. Shaky Hands (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!  
This is my first time trying the whole Whumptober thing (or any bigger prompt challenge, really) but I will give it my best.  
I'm probably not going to finish all 31 prompts but I'll try.  
Specific warnings are going to be in the notes to each chapter!  
Comments and Feedback (I enjoy concrit) are welcome and deeply appreciated.  
Have as much fun with this as I have! <3
> 
> Warnings: None

The bomb smiles at him. No, literally. The bomb smiles at him.

It`s one of the Joker issued one: All green and purple and orange and _smiling_ .

Dick stares at the grinning cartoon clown and wishes for the tenth time that day that he had said yes when Babs asked him to go to that science convention with her. But no, he told her about his plans of spending an evening as Dick Grayson at one of the Wayne Enterprise banquets and now here he was.

In front of a bomb. As Dick Grayson. Dressed in a fancy suit without any gear. Or a commlink. Well, Fuck.

And the evening had been going so well. There had been a fair amount of share holders who seemed more than willing to spend their money on good causes after spending time in close proximity to Dick. Or rather his butt. It really depends on who you’re asking. 

But then the Joker sirens started going off. Apparently Arkham had yet again lost the clown. Dick wasn’t even surprised just… disappointed. He could use an evening without all the craziness his nightlife brought - especially without the special kind of crazy of the Joker. Just one evening. Was that too much to ask? Apparently it was. 

Mayhem broke out. Understandably. But it was a surprisingly short-lived mayhem. Because the overhead speakers clicked on and let everyone know what exactly the Joker had been thinking this fine evening. And when the Joker spoke people usually listened:

“My, my, dear children! What a fine evening it is! The stars are out and so am I and we have a game to play:   
_Here we go round the mulberry bush,_  
The mulberry bush,  
The mulberry bush.  
Here we go round the mulberry bush  
On a cold and frosty evening.

_This is the way we… __**KILL**! _“

Manic laughter filled the air and Dick knew with absolut certainty that this night had irreversibly gone to shit.

“Now, you see, I hid a few surprises all across the city for our Batsy Boy, but I didn`t want to make it too boring, so I added a little twist: Batsy can either safe the boring pompous idiots at the City Hall or he can go round the mulberry bush and find the five presents I hid somewhere in the city. But before you ask Why not both? Let me tell you that one little bat spotted at the City Hall will make my presents go **_BOOM!_** Hah ha ha! Joker out and a fine evening!”

Yeah. Dick had already proclaimed this night as shit, right? Because he was at the City Hall. And Bruce knew that. So Dick knew what Bruce would want him to do: Make sure the City Hall is safe as a civilian while Batman saved the city from yet another Joker scheme. Basically a normal Friday night.

Except that bombs were not Dicks forte. Jason or Tim or even Bruce himself, they could handle them, heck, Dick could too had he Oracle, his equipment, and time. Not to mention silence instead of a room full of panicked rich people. 

But Bruce would still expect him to save the civilians. And Dick was really not in the mood for one of his disappointed stares. So, instead of making himself small, he stood tall and yelled:

“Attention please! I am a Police Officer of the BPD. Please remain calm and help me locate the bomb. I am trained in bomb defusal” - not technically a lie - “and will make sure that you end this evening safe in your own beds - or safe in the bed of a lucky chosen one!” 

And that led him to his current situation: Crouching in front of a Joker bomb in an maintenance tunnel in his civilian get up. The party guests had been easily swayed to remain in the more structurally sound parts of the building. The furthest and safest away from the bomb. Only a handful of stubborn guests stayed at Dicks side. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or not.

He’s still not sure. 

He looks at the bomb, at that dumb grin and wonders not for the first time if this will be the semi-glorious death of Dick Grayson. Semi-glorious because he tried to be a hero but failed. 

“Everything going okay?” Mark asks - or was it Mike? Mortimer? M… something?

“Yeah… on a completely unrelated note, how are you guys at lock picking?”

That earns him a chuckle. The three remaining stand guard behind him. Two ladies in quite form-fitting dresses and Mark(?) in his tailored suit. They are obviously used to the Gotham flair of almost dying during a night out. Well, so is Dick.

One of the women grins: 

“I am actually really good at lock picking. Sure hope that doesn’t get me in trouble with the law, Officer Dick”

Dick doesn’t even try to hide his silent laughter. 

“No. I just want to make sure that when I yell Run someone can get the other hostages out of the building. I am pretty sure the rest of today’s guest list forgot their lock picking set at home”

“What tells you I have mine with me?”

“Nothing. But I have a spare. It’s in my back pocket; you can take it”

“Well, that is an invitation I just can’t ignore…”

Dick knows that they are just flirting to ease the tension. It still makes it easier to breath. Too bad he has to send them away:

“Then I hope you won’t be too mad if I send you up there to try and get as many of you out of the building as you can?”

“The doors are locked and bombs are wired to them in case anyone tries to destroy them… you said that yourself”

“Yes, but I also just defused the digital trigger that linked the small bombs to this big baby here, so… you should be safe as long as no one bumps - or more like _bombs _\- into the door, which is why you are going to need the lock picks”

Seconds go by. Seconds they don’t have. Dick did not find a countdown but he knows that it won’t be long until this thing blows. He doesn’t dare look up. 

It is Mark that gives in first:

“Okay… okay… just make sure you get out here too, yeah? ‘Cause I don’t want to explain to fucking Bruce Wayne that I let his son die a hero”

Dick chuckles. If only they knew. 

Only moments later their footsteps recede. He is truly alone now. 

His stomach drops, so does the smile he had forced upon his face. He is truly, royally fucked.

The digital triggers? Easy-peasy in relation to the monster still in front of him. Even without its outer shell the thing is still bright and yellow and confusing. But at least the civilians have a chance now. At least someone is going to get out of this mess. Probably. Its just not going to be him.

He stares at the bomb and wonders how painful it’s going to be. If its just C4 and death will be hot but fast. Or if its Joker Gas that will kill him by making him tear himself apart laughing. 

His hands shake.

Fuck.

What will Barbara think? Or Bruce? God, they will be so disappointed. Dick Grayson killed by his own inability. If that isn’t the story of his life. Or Un-life? Whatever.

Dick just hopes that Bruce talks to Damien this time. Robin was currently in space with the Teen Titans. He didn’t wish Damien the same homecoming he had received so many years earlier with Jason. Oh god, Jason… would he come to this funeral too? Would there still be enough left of Dick?

He really wants to cry right now.

But he doesn’t. 

He is still alive. 

His hands are still shaking. 

It takes all he got to make them still again. But he does.

There are so many different cables. And all of them are colorful. Even as another part comes apart, dislocating a giant vial of liquid, the damn thing doesn’t get any easier. There is no Red or Blue cable bullshit because there isn’t a single red or blue one. 

He is cautious as he gets to work again. One mistake and he is done. One mistake and it was all for nothing. 

Or hopefully not. He got the hostages out. 

Probably.

One deep breath later - or maybe a few more - he opens up the screwed shut compartment in the middle of the bomb without disturbing the mercury trigger. Inside waits a little clown figure with a maniacal laughing face and a countdown. A countdown only three minutes away from zero. 

Fuck.

Dick is no idiot. He knows that he can’t defuse the rest of the bomb in that time. That doesn’t make it any less life shattering. 

He needs to do something. He has to try. 

He has to survive. 

The clock ticks down to two minutes before Dick starts to think again. Before he scrambles up and almost falls down again over the vial with the unknown substance. Could be Joker Gas could be water. Anyway it is something that should be as far away from the explosion as possible. Gingerly Dick takes it. Really, really hopes that it doesn’t break. The shakiness has returned to his hands. It does not help. 

Then he starts to run.

The civilians are out, he hopes. It will be quick, he hopes. He will not make it in time, he knows.

His thoughts are scrambled. 

Bruce - or is it Batman - shaking his head. Babs crying. Tim laughing at something on his phone. Cass and Steph grinning as they paint their nails. Guns blazing - Jason.

And Damien. Small, little Damien who lost so much.

_I am sorry, Little D. Hope you know I love you._

Dick counts in his head. Or tries to.

15

14

He can see the stairs leading out of the maintenance tunnel into the foyer. 

13

His pulse is too loud in his ears. He can’t make out if there are still people there. He hopes not. Please. Just this once.

12

11

10

He takes the first of way to many stairs.

9

8

7

The vial. Dick presses it against his body, cushioned in his suit jacket.

6

5

4

He could use a hug right about now. 

3

2

1

Sorry Bruce. You shouldn’t have to lose another kid to an explosion.


	2. Explosion (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 2: The bomb does what bombs do best: Go BOOM!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!  
So many thanks for the lovely feedback! This is my first time writing in a comic fandom and all that love made me so happy!  
Keep up the good work! ;)
> 
> Warnings for this Chapter: Major Character Injury, Self-Worth Issues

1

Sorry Bruce. You shouldn't have to lose another son to an explosion.

0.

_ **BOOM** _

Everything is loud. Everything. The floor. The ceiling. The walls caving in. Breathing. Existing. 

Dick is pretty sure he can taste sound right now. If that is true, sound tastes like ash and debris and human suffering. 

Hn. Maybe only explosions taste that way. 

Like the explosion he got caught up in. Like the explosion currently muddling his brain.

It takes effort to think further than that. It almost seems like his body suddenly remembered that it had been battered and beaten around and found now the perfect time to remind him of his humanity.

Everything hurt.

His eyes are open, he thinks. There is no way to be sure. His surroundings are pitch black and everything is still so fuzzy, Dick couldn’t even tell you if his body belongs to him.

A body that is definitely not happy about what happend in the last few minutes. Minutes? How long had he lain here? How much time did he spend in all this rubble?

Oh, god! The gala guests! Were they alright? Had they gotten out? 

His brain hurt. 

What had happened? There had been a gala. Dick had attended - not Nightwing - Dick. That seemed important somehow? And then an attack... the Joker!

A bomb! Now Dick new what had caused the explosion at least. Not that it needed a rocket scientist to figure that out - but let him catch a break. He had been caught up in a bomb.

Deep breaths. That is what he needs right now. 

And he tries, he really does but something in this eternal darkness is blocking his chest from fully expanding. Another try brings the same result: He is unable to take a deep breath. The painful sensation by his upper left ribs tells him that it might be something inside of him.

Maybe it is time to check for injuries. Even if only in his head. Something to occupy him with.

He starts easy: Concussion; bruised, possibly broken left ribs; a dislocated shoulder; no feeling in his right leg... his concentration breaks.

His right leg? He can’t feel it.

Not good. Not good. Not Good. Not GOOD!

Without even meaning to, Dick starts to hyperventilate. Bad idea. There is no space in his thorax to accommodate that much air. There is no air. He can’t breath!

His vision goes spotty. Not black since he would need to see something for that, but weirdly soft and disoriented. 

Only now his Bat training kicks in.

_Deep breaths, Dick, and count to ten_

It is Bruce’s voice that echos in his head. He would have thought that it was someone else’s words that would keep him going after all that time spent away from the manor. But no, it is Bruce. It is always Bruce. 

He obeys. 

Takes a deep (or as deep as he can get) breath and counts to ten. And again. And again.

His heartbeat returns to normal. His thoughts clear up.

And with his brain coming online again, Dick finally remembers what the fuck was going on.

His hand (not the one with the dislocated shoulder - that arm was pretty numb, too - but with at least two broken fingers) reaches for the vial. It has to be somewhere. Dick pressed it against his front when he ran and now he was lying on his back (if he could trust his sense of direction). 

His searching fingers find something. The vial. It is whole. At least something went right. 

_Always be aware of your surroundings, they can keep you alive_

Thanks, memory Batman!

Dick complies. There is rubble everywhere. It digs into every part of his body - it _dick’s_ into every part, get it? - and makes it easy to forget that, no, this isn’t another exercise in cataloging his pain. 

It just sucks that there is so much of it.

But surroundings, right? Rubble. Lots of it. He was in the City Hall before it blew. A maintenance tunnel. Or the stairs? In any case somewhere with lots of stone stacked on top of it. Stone that is now crushing Dick and his horrible humor.

Fuck, that concussion is really getting to him.

He needs to focus. He is injured. How badly Dick doesn’t want to think about. There is a shit-ton of stuff on top of him. City Hall probably doesn’t exist anymore. Does anyone now that he is here tonight? Is anyone aware that he needs saving?

Bruce knows that he is here. Bruce, who has other bombs to defuse. Bruce, who has other birds to care for. Bruce, who Dick disappointing again and again and again. 

Which doesn’t mean that Bruce isn’t going to save him though. Of course not. Just that Dick is not all that high up on that priority list as his catching breath and the absence of feeling from at least two extremities would like. 

But that’s okay. 

As long as the others are safe, Dick can wait. 

So, what if the air is getting stale? So what if lights are dancing in front of his eyes? So what if he is pretty sure he can taste blood on his tongue?

As long as Damien is safe, as long as Babs is at her conference, as long as Tim is home - and Jason, never forget the Little Wing - so long Dick can wait.

His thoughts start to wander. About that vacation he promised Barbara. About Mark, whose promise he broke. About Lemon Pie. 

About...

About...

He can hear voices in the distance. At least he thinks so, and thinking is really not his forte right now. 

“Grayson!”

“Richard Grayson!”

“DICK!”

“Can you hear me?”

Definitely voices. Voices he knows. His family. 

_Yes, I can hear you_

He is no longer sure if he said it out loud. His eyes close - they _were_ open after all. His family found him. They came for him.

He smiles. It has to be enough.

“Grayson! Where are you, goddammit!”


	3. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his time with Spyral Dick ends up stranded in the desert with a baby. And Dick has only one goal: This baby has to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!^^  
Here I am again! And thank you all so much for commenting and kudoing! You really know how to make a girl happy!
> 
> This story is set during the Grayson run and almost all of the dialog comes directly from Grayson Issue #5. If you are not familiar with this issue no problem. Here is a short context: Dick Grayson is a Spy and is send (with some colleges) to retrieve something called the Heart. They figure out the Heart is inside a baby but not before crash landing and getting stranded in the desert without any way to contact their allies. They decide to walk to the next city which is 10 days by foot. Dick's colleges get left behind pretty quickly. It's only him and the baby. And they go on!
> 
> Warnings: None

It’s Day 9. 

They - he - lost Helena on Day 3. Midnighter had called it quits two days ago.

It was only him now. Him and the baby, the heart, and the desert. 

The sun was only starting to rise and sweat already ran down his scorched body. Where the water came from, he had no idea. 

It had been 36 hours since he drank the last of it. And seven days of inadequate water intake before that. If he didn’t get some sort of fluids in him in the next few hours, his organs were going to fail. One after the other.

He would be dead before nightfall. 

But if he was dead, she was dead. And she was not dead.

The baby had to survive. 

And Grayson would make sure of that. 

Call it idiocracy or stubbornness or pure helpless heroics (and people did call it exactly that. People like M and Tiger and Helena. People without faith. No, people without the special kind of hope that had kept Dick running when he was eight and his parents died. How fortunate that Grayson was in the possession of exactly that kind of hope.)

He took another step forward. How? He did not know. There were very few things he knew right now. He could make a list. It would be very short:

  1. Keep walking
  2. Keep the baby alive
  3. Don’t die
  4. Keep walking

That was about it. 

His boot caught on something. When he looked down, the only thing he saw was sand. So much sand. Sand that came closer to his face at an alarming rate. 

It hurt when his face made contact with the hostile ground. The baby was save against his chest. At least he hoped so. He must have slipped. 

Or maybe it was his mind that was slipping because the next thing he knew the sun had almost reached its highest point and Grayson was still on the ground slowly being eaten by dunes. 

He had to get a grip.

He had to save her.

The heart. 

Because was what humanity without its heart? What was he without it? Certainly not Dick Grayson. 

And boy did he try. Constantly. But it was easier to just be Grayson while scurrying the world as Agent 37. Nobody needed Dick here. 

Dick was at home between his brothers. Dick was Gotham, Blüdhaven, the Circus. Grayson was Spyral, Betrayal, and this desert he was _not_ going to die in.

He just had to keep going. He was good at that.

It was a slow process, trying to get up again. His body wanted to lean sideways, wanted to become one with the sand but he wouldn’t let it. 

He had to keep moving. So he did.

There was movement in his arms. The baby. Her intelligent brown eyes caught his. And again he knew, that he was doing this for her. The heart. The Baby. Human life. Hope. 

“So, okay, I get Bruce… Batman… Batman… out of the tree, right? But the trees are still coming after us, crawling and… and walking… and then… then there’s like this purple monster…”

His voice caught. He wanted to cough, no, he wanted to feel liquid run down his dried out throat. Just the idea of water made his knees weak. 

But no.

He kept walking. And talking.

Is it for the baby? Is it for him? Is it to make sure he can take another step?

Who knew.

“It’s huge and it’s got like four arms and teeth. And pink… pink triangle eyes all… coming together. And we’re running from it, and we have to swing on a tree across a ditch…”

Grayson remembered that dream. Of course he did, he wouldn’t tell her if he didn’t. But still, even a fake memory of him and Batman, something that never ever happened but could have, made his heart ache.

He missed his mentor. His weird uncle-dad hybrid of a father figure. His home.

If he had any water left to spare, Grayson thought he might cry. But he didn’t. So he kept talking:

“And we want the purple monster to follow us, to fall in the ditch. But it won’t come. And it starts throwing rocks. And if it doesn’t follow us we’re going to die.So I rush up to the edge. Right on the edge of the fall. And I… and I shout: **_Come on Big Boy! I am still waiting for you!_** And the monster gets mad. And he comes. And he falls.”

And so did he. Almost. He balanced it out at the last moment. For a moment he just stopped. Took a deep breath. Would he have gotten up again if he fell right now? No, probably not.

The baby squirmed again. He gave her the last of the baby formula this morning. The rest water was for her. He hoped it was enough. It had to be enough. He didn’t know what to do if it wasn’t. 

“It’s alright. It’s all going to be alright”

Somewhere along the way his soothing words dried up alongside the rest of him.

But he could still walk. Nothing was over yet.

He was still alive. And as long as he's alive, she's alive.

So he kept walking.

“And we win. But then there were… rocks… rocks everywhere”

The desert was a giant expanse in front of him. All he could see was sand and the horribly blue sky. All he could feel was thirst. His vision was swimming… hah, swimming. What wouldn’t he give for a nice bath right about now?

But that was not what he was thinking about, was it?

No.

Keep walking. Keep talking.

“And a rock fell… it fell… on… it fell on me. And the night was… was ending… but it was all… all dark”

Nightfall came. 

“But you got… got to forget about the rocks, okay? Promise me that, to forget that”

Why had he even talked about the rocks? The rocks were unimportant. Walking was important. Keeping her alive was important. Not dying was important (but Grayson was no longer sure if he could keep that one).

“You’re too little. You don’t have to worry about the rocks.”

No, the rocks were unimportant.

Maybe he should stop talking about them?

“You only have to… you just remember. Sometimes you stand on the edge. And there’s a monster on the other side…”

Grayson fell. He didn’t know if his legs just stopped or if his feet slipped but one moment he’s walking into the approaching night and the next he’s kneeling in the sand of a desert, the baby cradled against his chest.

“And you tell him… you just tell that monster: Come on… come on, Big Boy! I’m still waiting for you!”

It seemed unnecessarily important to him to finish that story. But he did it anyway. 

His chest heaved with every breath he took. There was darkness at the edge of his vision and he couldn’t be sure if it's his slow death or the perfekt silkiness of a desert night. He just knew that darkness was coming.

The baby, the heart, it started fusing again. And he wanted to reassure her, tell her everything was going to be fine, but his voice broke before he even opened his mouth.

“Huh…”

There were no words left in him. He was all dried out. Literally and figuratively. Hah! Jason would be proud of him. So would Tim.

And he misses his family. God, does he miss them.

And in that moment Grayson broke away and all that was left is Dick. Dick, dying, with a baby in his arms in a dessert without rescue in sight. Alone. 

It hurt to swallow, it had hurt for a while now, but he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Neither the nausea that had more to do with failing organs than it had with bad food. Or the lack there off. 

Grayson had known his chances but he looked at them coldly. Dick knew his chances and he knew that even if he was rescued now, they were still low.

He just wished he could make sure the baby was safe. 

Scratch that. He wished for his family, for coming home, for survival, for a bath and a gazillion liters of water. But most of all, he wished for the Heart to be safe.

His callused hand trail along her small head. So fragile. So young. 

The only thing he could do now was hope.

It was night when he slipped away. And it was morning, when he didn’t wake up.

.

.

.

**“Maram! Maram! Come bring the phone!” **


	4. Human Shield (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a shooting at Park Row. This time it's not Bruce's parents that take the bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! ^^  
Thank you so much for all the love! <3  
Keep up the good work! (you all know how to make someone feel welcome!)  
This one is going to be continued in tomorrows prompt, so be prepared!
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Injury

“Noooo!”

There is yelling, well, obviously. 

But Dick has no time to think about it. His body moves too fast. His mind is incapable of catching up with what hes hearing, what hes doing.

It is with force when he slams down on Damian, using his body as a shield between the child (”Don’t call me a child, Grayson!”) and the gunmen in front of them.

It comes to no surprise when they start shooting. 

The burning sensation in his lower abdomen starts short thereafter. A part of his brain really hopes that the bullet got stuck inside him, was unable to hurt Damien too. The other part of his brain is screaming in pain.

Well, fuck. 

“Shit, shit, shit,…”

That voice belongs to neither Damian or him. It feels like his brain is missing something. Nothing really makes sense. Why was Damian so still? Why was Tim - that had to be Tim - here? 

“See, I told ya’! One dumb move and we shoot!”

Oh, right. There are gunmen. 

The events of the last few minutes come back to him with a force: He had taken Tim and Damian to the cinema because while they might be fighting (and they were always fighting) they also shared a love for Star Wars. Tim had asked for celebratory ice cream after they left the theater and so they went to get some. But on their way to the ice cream parlor three men with guns had stopped them, asking for their money and valuables. That was before they recognized Dick and his siblings as the Wayne Brats. Things want downhill quickly afterwards. 

Dick remembers telling them to calm down, telling them that he would willingly give them his money if they let them go. The gunmen had not liked that suggestion. And they had liked it even less when Damian called them Imbeciles for not taking an easy out. 

Dick had seen it in their eyes, then, the wish do something crazy, the complete lack of control, the readiness to push a trigger. So, he pushed first. In fact, he pushed himself in front of Damian. Or more accurately on top of him since the eleven year old could not possibly carry the weight of Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson. 

There are hands on him now. Larger ones on his side trying to move him away from Damien and smaller ones pushing against his torso, trying to get him off. 

A sigh escapes him. Damian is alright after all. But it’s still Tim that talks. At first silently, so only Dick can hear it (and maybe Damian):

“Hey, shit, hey! Dick. I need you to answer me. I need you to get off Dami and start putting pressure on the wound, okay? Damian? Can you help me? Please… Dick! Look at me! Please…”

And Dick is trying. Really. But his lower body is on fire and he might be going into shock. He opens his eyes anyways. 

Everything is fuzzy around him, the only thing he can focus on are the black locks of Damians hair that are right in front of him. His eyes are unable to find Tims. Dick isn’t even totally sure if he tries. Nothing makes sense.

Why is Damian so silent? Should he worry about that?

Tim chooses that moment to finally push Dick of the smaller body. No, Dick should really focus on his own issues right about now. The pain that flares through his body, from his fingertips to his toes is excruciating.There is a distinct possibility that he blacked out for a moment because the next time he hears Tim speak, it is to address the gunmen:

“What do you want? We can get it for you, I promise but please, _please_ let me call an ambulance for my brother! You don’t want to kill a Wayne…”

Dick is no longer lying on the body of his younger brother, instead his head is bedded in Damian’s lap. Tim is putting pressure on the gunshot wound. At least Dick thinks so. The fuzziness has not yet died down. He really wishes he could be of more help. He really wishes his mouth would cooperate. 

“Well, we wouldn’t be the first to get away with a Wayne murder, would we? Why not make it a double for old times sake?”

These gangsters are really on the wrong side of sane. It’s not at if Dick hadn’t realized the ironic similarities between this situation and what happened almost forty years ago but he would never have bet on the gunmen to be so blatantly aware of the parallels. It somehow makes this so much worse. And suspicious. There is too much going on for it to be a coincidence. 

His brothers must think along the same lines. Tim’s hand stills in its efforts to coerce Dick’s blood to stay inside his body and he can feel how Damien grows rigid in the matter of seconds.

“What do you mean?”

He speaks! Something in Dick relaxes as he hears Damians voice. Though he can’t ignore how timid he sounds, how much of that usual anger and self-assurance is missing. Instead there is only fear. What a wrong tone to Damians voice. 

The crooks laugh. Something is very, very wrong. 

Maybe it is time for him to stop being passive and actively do something. With an herculean amount of effort Dick pushes himself upwards only to be stopped by both Damian and Tim. 

It’s hard to focus his eyes on anything specific but there is no way he would be unable to see the pure terror in Damiens eyes. Or to not feel the horror in Tim’s steely grip on his shoulders. He wants to say something, to tell them that everything is going to be alright, but his breath was stolen away by the strength required to get up. He looks at them instead, panting. Wishing for an out. Asking with his eyes, if _they_ were okay. 

Only now does he realize that Damian’s clothes are full of blood. Red is dripping down his whole front. Tim, only visible in this peripheral, is also painted in red. His blood, he realizes. All his blood.

The alley begins to tilt sideways.

Behind him the three gunmen go eerily silent.

There is not much he can do. He is bleeding out. Fast. They are in a situation out of their control. So many things are so very wrong.

The world around him starts bleeding out, too. It loses its color, faster than Dick can handle. Getting up was a really bad idea. 

He stares at his brothers. He has to protect them. He has to tell them how much he loves them. He has to make sure they realize that neither of them needs their own Martha and Thomas. He…

He hears a thump behind him. 

“Batman”

Both Damian and Tim whisper at the same time. The hope in their voices hurts more than getting shot did.

“Batman!”

The gunmen don’t whisper but neither do they scream. 

Dick is not sure if the shivers that run down his spine are caused by the fear these guys install in him or by the shock that is finally setting in. 

He let’s himself fall back down again.

Maybe it’s alright if he sleeps now. Batman is here after all. Batman is going to protect them.

“Grayson!”


	5. Gunpoint (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman is the one who gets the call about a shooting at Park Row. His reaction is... expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love!   
Your comments and Kudos and Bookmarks really keep me going! <3  
Today we are taking a look at the Park Row situation from Batman's Point of View!
> 
> Warning: Panic Attack, Injury description

Batman doesn’t know how to react when he hears the police scanner utter “Shots fired, Park Row Corner 56th street, three suspects were seen earlier entering the alley, possible victims, do not engage until reinforcements arrive”.

Today of all days. Exactly 35 years after the death of his parents another shooting had to happen on the same place where they lost their lives. Ironic.

He lets out a huff of air before silently standing up. He is the only one out tonight with Dick deciding to take Tim and Damien to the movies. Jason is on a mission with the Outlaws and Stephanie and Cassandra have a case at the docks. He didn't want any of his kids with him today of all days. The anniversary of his parents deaths was always something personal and it will stay so. At least if he has any say in it. 

“Batman to Oracle”

“Batman?”

“I am going to move in on the Park Row shooting. Keep me updated on the status of the others. Batman out”

With that he switches of his communicator. Or at least his side of it. Nothing can keep Barbara out if she sets her mind on it. But this is just a standard robbery to her. She doesn’t know the history. She doesn’t _have_ the history. And with that she has no reason to keep an extra eye on him.

He takes to the air, shooting his grapple into the nearest building. He is only five minutes out. 

Gotham is remarkably silent. But then again it is only 11 pm. There is so much time left for things to go to shit. 

Even after all this years Gotham City still takes his breath away in nights like these. People describe her as ugly, and well, they are not lying, but her ugliness has something real to it. Something addictive that makes Batman chase this moment of pure beauty like a junkie chasing his next fix. 

Crime Alley appears way to fast in front of him. He is not ready yet. A part of him wants to go back to swinging across rooftops, but he doesn’t. He’s Batman. And he can hear voices, even if he has no visual yet.

He slowly creeps closer across the roof of an abandoned building. He becomes one with the shadows. He becomes the night. He becomes the Dark Knight.

That is until he hears an uncomfortably small voice ask “What do you mean?”. And the laughter that follows.

It’s a children’s voice. A voice he knows very well, even if he can count the times it sounded this small on one hand. And each of these times was utterly frightening.

It’s the voice of his son. Damian. Damian is down there. And if Damian is down there… that means Tim and Dick are with him. Oh God. Oh Fuck.

The world stops around him.

Why were they here? Why hadn’t he asked Dick which theater they were watching the movie at? Why hadn’t he told them to stay in? Or patrol instead with him? Why? Why?

_He is eight again and his parents are bleeding in front of him. He is 43 and his sons lie dead to his feet. _

Why again?

The police scanner reported gunshots. What if it’s already to late? What if he lost yet another son? He couldn’t do this anymore.

Not after Jason. Not after Damien. (And not after these 5 minutes where Dick left him too)

His breath comes in short gasps. He’s honestly surprised that he is still breathing at all. His lungs just giving up feels like something that should happen right now. 

_Dead eyes staring into nothing. Pearls shattered across the floor like blood on a canvass. Dark hair only illuminated by the flash lights of a police car._

He doesn’t want to face whatever is down there. He is not ready to see someone else die because of him. Because they know him. Because he is sure with everything Batman stands for that this is somehow his mess. 

Why now? Why when his kids are finally ready to come home? 

The air sings around him.

Fuck.

But the biggest question of them all: Why today of all days? Why on the anniversary of his parents death? Why here of all places?

He already visited his parents grave today. This should not be the day where he adds another grave (or graves) to the Wayne family cemetery. No. No, no, no...

He needs to calm down. The voice in his head has the same opinion.

No, literally.

“Batman! Snap out of it and give me your status! Batman!”

It’s Oracle. She probably tracked his vitals and when they went of the charts she started to try to contact him. He doesn’t know how long shes been trying. He doesn’t want to know, honestly. Doesn’t need to know how much time he wasted succumbing to panic that could have been used to save his boys.

He has to safe them. There is no other option. There just isn’t.

“Oracle.”

“Batman. Status.”

“The Park Row Shooters have three hostages. No visuals on them yet”

“What are you not telling me? You freaked out pretty heavily just now…”

He makes his way to the edge of the roof while they speak. A fire escape dares to block the view of the hostages - not his sons. Never his sons. Please. 

But he can see the assailants clearly now. They seem to be the usual kind of low life that made Crime Alley their home but something bugs Batman. Something is just not right with them and that is not only the fact how eerily silent they have suddenly gone. His stomach turns. 

“Batman. Report!”

There is a moment where he considers taking out his comm unit just to shut her up. But what if he needs reinforcement? He wouldn’t dare putting his boys in any more danger just because of some petty urge not to talk to Barbara.

“I have reason to believe that the hostages are Dick, Tim, and Damian. And now silence. I am moving in.”

With that he shuts her off once again. Just not the permanent solution his more dramatic side would favor.

One step over the edge and he jumps down behind the gunmen. It’s the first real view he has gotten of his sons and his heart wants to stop. His sons are being held at gunpoint. And he wasn’t there.

He sees the pure hope shining in Damien and Tim’s eyes as they whisper his name, but again time has slowed around him. 

Dick is not looking at him. Probably can’t look at him. Batman can see the hole in his eldest lower abdomen. Can see the blood that has not only soaked through Dick’s clothes but through Damians and Tims as well. Can see how Dicks arms shake in an effort to keep him elevated. To keep himself awake.

And he can see him falling forwards. Only moments later, with his eyes fluttering close and a slightly confused expression on his face. 

Sound moves through water. It takes forever for Damian's distorted “Grayson!” to reach his ears. 

Not his sons. Not today. Not ever. Please. 

It is Tim though who finds his eyes. Who stares at him and mouths “Do something”. And that is something he can do. He might be to late. It might be his fault. But he can always do something.

In only a split second he twists around and puts his fist through one of the crocks. Or hits with a force that almost makes it appear possible for him to do so.

The whole moment with his sons was only that: A moment. 

Suddenly everything is moving again. He can hear yelling and is no longer sure if it’s Tim or Damian or the guy he just punched. There is only violence.

With one down and the instant of inaction on both sides gone, the other two start shooting at him. It’s a flurry of movement.

Duck. Move. Kick. Jump. Punch. Duck. Twist. Grab. And knee that Bastard in the groin. 

It is almost disappointing how fast the action is over. How fast the three assailants are down. How fast time makes sense again.

He grabs the one closest to him by the neck, jostling him up. There is no need for him to try to keep his voice low and dark, it does it all alone today:

“Why did you shot at them?”

That bastard actually has the nerve to laugh. Something is so very wrong. How easily they were defeated doesn’t fit in with the picture of Dick lying on the ground bleeding to death. He shakes the man again:

“Why? Tell me! I stopped you, didn’t I? Pretty easily. So why go through all that effort just to be easily beaten?”

Very few crooks have ever seen Batman this shaken up but something tells him that these are not the kind of criminals that care about this kind of emotional blackmail.

“Because we didn’t have to win. We just had to keep you busy long enough”

And with that something on the crooks clothes starts to sizzle. As do the clothes of the other two. Batman drops the man in a haste and before the guy can even touch the ground all of him that is left is ash. His companions are also nothing more than little dirty flecks on an already dirty road.

Still, his perplexed gaze is unable to part of the streaks of ash on his gloves. What the fuck is going on? Magic? Time Travel Bullshit? Who knows. He has other priorities right now…

“Batman! Gr- Richards pulse is fading. I… I… Please do something!”

Damians voice sets him in motion again. With a few strides he is next to his sons: Tim staring at the blood on his hands, no longer meeting Batmans gaze, Damian caught somewhere between hopeful and utterly distraught. And Dick… who is unresponsive and about to die in the same way, in the same alley, his parents had died in. Batman is not going to let that happen.

Fuck. 

Bruce Wayne is not going to let that happen. 

He opens up his comms:

“Oracle-”

“The Batmobile is on it’s way. I was keeping track”

He can hear the worry in her voice. But there is no time for her distress on top of the one already tangible in the air around him. And he knows she knows that.

“Tell Alfred to get medical ready. And to call Leslie. We need all hands on deck for this one!”

“Okay, Ba-”

“Batman. Out”

His hand touches Dicks and he sees how both Damian's, whose arms are slung across Dick's neck, and Tim's, still trying to stop blood from flowing that is barely trying to escape anymore, eyes track his movement. 

He closes his. 

The next words are just as much for him as they are for them:

“Everything is going to be alright”

And in that moment he is no longer Batman. In that moment he is only Bruce, their dad.


	6. Dragged Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When **They** came, Tim hoped it would be him. Why was it never him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
As always so many thanks for all the love, you guys! Special shout out to @iSpitonFire! <3  
All of you make writing this so worth it!  
This chapter is more Tim focused for some reason ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
But no worries there is still plenty of Dick Angst to go!
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Death (heavily alluded too), Suicidal Thoughts, Survivors Guilt  
Look after yourself guys, and stay safe!

**They** came for them one after the other. 

The first one **they** got was Bruce. Tim could still hear the horrible sound of fingers desperately clawing at rough stone. He could also still see the bloody furrows that Bruce left behind. 

The second one had been Jason. Tim thought he knew what curses were but with Jason yelling bloody murder, even he had learned a few new ones. Not that this was a situation in which Tim wanted to learn anything.

Tim wanted to survive. But that seemed more and more unrealistic with each day.

The third one **they** got was Damian. Tim still wasn’t sure what had been worse: Damian's screams of fury and rage (and desperation) or Dick's absolute devastation.

All he could say was that the noises that left both of their mouths still haunted his waking moments. 

(There was rarely a chance to sleep anymore. Not that he wanted to. There was no need to invite the nightmares in)

Barbara hadn’t been with them when they got taken and Steph got killed before **they** got a chance of torturing her. Tim didn’t know if he should be happy about it or not. 

It was probably better than the waiting he had to endure. 

There’re only three of them left. Cass, Dick and him. 

He knew that it was only a matter of time. 

He also knew that he didn’t want to be the last. Just imagining it hurt. He had been the last one once too often. 

A horrible part of him wished for Dick to stay for last. Not because of some feud or some past hurts but because Dick was not really here at all anymore.

Something got lost when **they** dragged Damian away. Something that made Dick Dick, Tims older brother, one of the most important people in his life. Now there was only a shell of a man left.

And Tim couldn’t even be mad at him. He kind of wished to break too. 

His eyes focused on Cass. Without a moment of hesitation hers met his. She wanted this to be over too. A death like this was probably not something she imagined when she joined Batman and became their sister.

But at least she had already known suffering when she got into the vigilante game. Tim had joined because Batman needed a Robin. Because he still believed in heroes and the goodness of human beings.

He scoffed. Five years later and all his friends were dead, most of his family now too, and death was once again (and again and again) a welcome sight. 

Tim Drake just wanted to catch a break. 

He was surprised when he felt a hand touching his, only to see that Cass had extended her arm, reaching out to him. Her grasp was tight. He squeezed back. 

When he teared his gaze away from their locked hands, he found Dick looking at them. The small smile combined with his lost eyes was unsettling, but Tim was happy to get any kind of reaction out of Dick. 

Maybe it was cruel. Hadn’t he proclaimed only moments earlier that he could deal with Dick being the last since he already lost his soul to the enemy? Maybe that was still true. But Tim was only human. And human Tim was happy to see that his big brother still existed. 

He wanted to say something. Ask if everything was alright (it obviously wasn’t) and what would happen next (one of them would inevitably get taken) but he didn’t. **They** punished any kind of spoken language except during the extractions. 

Tim was pretty sure **they** only allowed it then because it added to the mental torture of waiting and knowing your loved ones were dying. 

Cass’ hold on Tims hand hardend - right as Dick was staring to mouth something at them. 

No.

**They **were coming again.

Tim wasn’t ready.

(Would he ever be?)

**They **came into the small alcove that had become their prison. **They** didn’t even look at Tim. Or Cass.

**They** took Dick and started dragging him away. His brother made no sound at all. And somehow his silence echoed in Tims head louder than any scream could.

All the way out of the alcove Dick never once broke eye contact with Tim or Cass. His gaze stayed firmly on them, the only sign of his distress the size of his brilliant blue eyes. 

Tears started running down Tim’s cheeks. Huh. He had thought himself to be dried up days ago. But when he looked at Cass, her cheeks were wet too.

Only barely glancing at the entry Cass signed “Hope is gone, at last”.

Tim didn’t know what to do with that either.

(So there were only two…)

The waiting was the worst, he decided. The mental torture that came with knowing that something would come but hadn’t yet. And the horror of surviving. Though that wasn’t a horror new to Tim. No, that horror became his reality gruesomely early in his life. 

Time became unreal after Dick. 

Cass was besides him. Looking after him, giving him comfort and space. Tim really wished he could say the same about himself but… he couldn’t.

Maybe he had finally broken, too.

If that was the case, it wasn’t as relieving as Dick had made it seem. A hateful part of Tim wanted to laugh at that. 

Sure, you idiot thought it would hurt less to be broken down. Hah.

At least he still had Cass. If one of them could survive this, it was her. No question asked. If he wanted for one of them to survive this, it was her. He no longer held any value in getting out of this alive. He had already lost too much. Again.

So, of course **they** took her too. 

He could see the fight coiled inside of her and yet she restrained herself. Her last words for him were spoken without any cadence:

“Brother. Live”

Why? He wanted to ask her. For what?

She was gone now too. Dragged away like his father and his brothers. His sister. Gone. The last one. Except him.

Of course it had to be him. 

Maybe if he closed his eyes everything would be over. Maybe he would be gone instead of Cass. Instead of Bruce. Instead of that little Demon that had only been twelve. 

And yet, he was still alive when he opened his eyes again. Such a scam. 

He didn’t know how much later it was when sunlight suddenly started flooding the alcove, but all he could feel when saw the grief tainted figure of Superman in front of him was dread. 

Tim wasn’t ready to survive. 

Tim didn’t want to survive. 

Why was he the last one standing again and again and again?

“I am here to take you home”

What home? He wanted to ask. Why now? He wanted to scream. Why at all? He wanted to cry.

He went with Superman anyway.

If not for him then for Cass. And for Dick. And Bruce. And Jason. Damian. Steph. Kon. Bart. 

For everyone he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is going on, you ask, in which continuity does this take place, you ask, what the Fuck, you ask.  
Same.


	7. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson is a social creature. Everyone who knows him could tell you that. So what happens if there is no one to be social with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!   
Here I come with some sweet, sweet Dick Grayson Angst!   
Thank you so much for all your love! <333
> 
> Warnings: Panic Attacks and our Birdy descending into Temporary Madness

3.789, 3.790, 3.791, 3.792, 3.793, 3.794, 3.795, 3.796, 3.797, 3.798, 3.789, 3.8…7..8?

Fuck.

Please no.

His breath caught in his throat.

He had miscounted. Again. It was what? the fifth time that he had to start over? Dick was no longer sure how long he had been in this hole.

Two days? Three?

He shouldn’t be this distraught after so little time.

But sue him, he was a social creature. And he was stuck in a deep, dark hole the size of a closet. With a possibly broken leg. No way out. And no one who knew that he was here.

A private and secret camping get away had sounded so good.

Just a few days away from the craziness of his life, alone with no contact to civilization.

And it was fun. He talked to other campers, enjoyed the nature, was just Dick Grayson for a change.

But then he had to decide to take on a more extreme trail. Up in the mountains to a less secure area. Alone. None of the others wanted to take that path.

So he was the only one there when a bunch of rocks broke lose and created an avalanche. An avalanche that might not have hit him but made sure that he lost his balance and tumbled down a crevice.

That was 42 hours ago. Probably. Then again, he had slept (fitfully) at least some of it and lost track of his meager efforts to count a minimum of five times.

What even was time?

He no longer felt sure, if he even knew how human interaction worked. 

Bruce had trained him in survival methods and even forced him through some harsh exercises regarding isolation but nothing could have prepared him for the pure mind numbing boredom that came with being stuck alone in the middle of the wilderness.

There wasn’t even a supervillain watching via some secret camera to annoy. 

There was only him, Dick Grayson, a backpack full of travel equipment (most of it useless in the limited space except his clothes and the food and water), and the hole he was stuck in.

And after almost, probably two days with only himself as company Dick could finally understand why his siblings might call him annoying sometimes. Because, Fuck, was he annoyed with himself.

Each time he tried to shift his weight or made a move to get something out of the backpack his leg screamed in pain. His bruised up back and side didn’t help either. So, stuck he was. And yes, he knew that chances of infection were fucking high too.

As he said, he had spent some time with himself, and the lessons about injuries in the wilderness and prevention of infection had been attended by him and the side of him he started arguing with just so he had something to do.

He needed to calm down again. 

The mood swings were a bad sign. He still remembered Bruce teaching im the signs of forced solitary confinement: paranoia, mood swings, anxiety, hallucinations, concentration issues, impulse control and memory loss. There was surely more, but he forgot. Hah.

The dumb thing was Dick wasn’t really sure anymore if there were any ways to fight the onsets of all the shit that came with forced isolation. Trying to keep occupied was one of them for sure… but except counting seconds (which he sucked at, as proven) there was nothing else for him to do.

He had sorted his equipment multible times already, had used his meager first aid kit on the swallow cuts across his side (and tried to used it on his leg - it didn’t work), and played I Spy with himself. It sucked. No surprise there. 

His supplies would run out soon. He had water left for maybe another two days and food for three but after that? He better hoped someone would safe him.

Though Dick was sure he would drive himself crazy before it came to that. 

Soon his family would realize that he was missing. He was supposed to return home today or tomorrow (his hole was way to dark to be able to conclusively tell what time of the day it was). Soon they would start searching. And then one of the other campers on the trail would tell them that he had taken this route up the mountain. And then they would find him. Finally please.

With that soothing image in his head his eyes closed.

He woke up to the sensation of freezing and… a voice. A voice! Finally! 

That was fast. But before he could otherwise react, Dick started calling:

“Hi! Here! I am here! Thank god for finally finding me! HERE!”

There was the voice again. It sounded a bit muffled, but Dick didn’t want to know what the stone did to distort his voice on the way out of this hellhole. 

“Yes! Here! HERE!”

He screamed himself raw before he realized that there was no one. That his mind had played a trick on him. That there was no one here to safe him and yet he was still freezing. 

With shacking fingers (and they were only shaking because of the cold, of course) Dick got two more jackets out of the backpack. With them thrown over his shoulder and legs, all his clothes were currently being used to keep him warm. His prolonged stillness was not making his situation any better. 

He didn’t want to think about what it meant how easily his mind had been tricked. His mind was no longer something he could count on… count on! Speaking off, that was something he could still do.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, …

It was raining. Dick wasn’t sure when it started or when he stopped counting. Both of these statements unsettled him on a deep level.

The water followed the easiest way down the mountain and that included his hole. There was a stream of it trying to make it’s way past him only to realize that it was now just as stuck in here as he was. 

Dick really hoped it stopped raining before drowning joined his list of possible deaths in the next 24 hours. No matter what, his clothes were already soaking wet and his laps of awareness had made sure that he hadn’t used the waterproof outer layer of his tent to protect himself from the wetness that came from above. There was no possible protection from the water that was starting to built up around his legs and his butt.

At least he couldn’t feel the fractured bone when it was submerged in ice cold rain water. 

He really wanted some hot chocolate right about now. Maybe with Damian huddled against his side and Tim and Duke working on something in the background. Jason was allowed in his fantasy too. He could play the piano (and no, there had not yet come a day where Dick had decided against using this tiny tip bit of information about his little brother for funsies) and Alfred would reprint him about how stupid he had been.

Dick was currently contemplating if Bruce was also a part of that fantasy. His fight with Batman after patrol had been the number 1 reason why he had booked the reclusive retreat after all… but you know, it was his fantasy!

The Bruce in his head had apologized long and earnestly about all his past wrongdoings and was now telling all of them how much he needed them when…

When a small rock hit him in the face after being washed down the hole. Losing that little warm space hurt more than the small cut on his cheek did. A cut was nothing new but a few uninterrupted minutes of bliss? In this economy?

With a start Dick realized that he truly had no idea whatsoever anymore what time or day it was. Had his family started searching already? Did they even care enough?

No. Dick was not going to let his sensory deprived brain muddle his believe in his family. He was better than that. 

When his thoughts wanted to stray down that road again, Dick decided that being a social creature was totally overrated. Which didn’t mean, of course, that he wouldn’t hug his rescuers to death if someone found him. 

And they would.

But they probably wanted to take care of the leg and the cuts and bruises first. And the hypothermia Dick was pretty sure was setting in. Ah, wasn’t nature fun.

Somewhere between his fantasy and his minds try at an anxiety episode the rain had stopped. At least something. He would't drown. Yay.

Just an endless list of possible causes of death left. 

Wasn’t he a ray of sunshine? That reminded him. It had been at least three days since he last saw the sun. Such a sun of a bitch.

Was it his imagination or were even his puns getting lamer and lamer? You know, because he was a sitting duck. Not getting away from this deep dark hole that ate him.

This was fucked up. 

His mind was fucked up.

He couldn’t even tell you if had caught an infection or not because everything was too wet and cold and muddled for that. For all he knew he could be dying and he wouldn’t even know it.

A dry laugh escaped his throat. This was definitely not the camping trip he had imagined.

Wasn’t he allowed to just take a few days off? Was there some paragraph somewhere proclaiming that Richard John Grayson was prohibited from having uninterrupted free time? The one universal constant: Dick always had to care for someone else but never himself.

Fuck.

He wanted home.

Were they waiting for him? At the dinner table because, guess what, Dick had messed up again?

Bruce was probably fucking mad at him. The eldest, the one who was supposed to be responsible, getting into situations that could have easily been avoided. And yet here he lied in a hole, going mad because his fucking brain couldn't handle being alone for a few hours (or days). What was he even still doing in this family?

He was in his mid-twenties and he still he came back running every time Bruce called him like a disobedient dog. They wouldn't even miss him.

Scratch that: Damian would miss him. But there was so much more to regret with Damian. That boy deserved better than having Dick try and raise him. And fail him. Oh God, had he failed him. During his time as Batman, when Heretic killed Damian, when Dick was forced to play dead. Each and every time Dick had proven that his kid deserved better.

How did he even dare thinking of Damian as his kid? He was no father figure to Damian and now he certainly wouldn't be. Give it a little time and Damian would also realize how much better his life was without Dick in it. 

Tim would come to that conclusion so much faster. After all Dick destroyed his life. Why keep Dick around after that? Better lose that loser. And honestly? Dick couldn't even be mad about it. He fucked that up. His little Timmy, the first Robin he really worked with, all mad and rightfully so.

Just as much as Jason, who he pissed of again and again and again. Dick never took the hint. Dick annoyed him further and further. Of course, Jason snapped. 

Dick would be honestly surprised if his family cared enough to search for him. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to die in this hole. 

Just like he let them die. 

No, no, no, no...

Short breaths, gasping breaths, trying to get air into his lungs.

Nothing seemed to work. Fuck this.

Fuck nature. Fuck his family. Fuck himself, most of all.

Was he crying? Probably. Look at him: Crying man sitting in dirty and muddy clothes in a hole for three days straight - more at six.

Nobody cared for him. It was only him who always took care. Was it too much to ask for some love in return? Was he really that lonely?

They had to be looking for him (he didn't believe it anymore) and they were going to find him (were they though?). He had to believe that, even just to stay sane. But what was sanity worth, really?

He was pretty sure he had caught an infection at this point, if only because he didn't want to imagine that isolation alone would make him this irrational but he couldn't trust his mind and what else was left? Not much of him, that was for sure. 

He heard a voice in the distance.

Hope? Safety? Rescue?

No. Just his parents last scream as they met the ground. Over and over and over. 

Dick decided to scream with them.

There were voices overhead. Young ones. Again.

"I think I found something. Yes! It's Grayson! He seems to be in rough shape- Wait a minute"

Something was crouching in front of him. His eyes wouldn't really track what it was or who.

"Hey? Grayson? Everything alright? Can you look at me?"

Damian. This was supposed to be Damian. His fucked up psyche send him another form of torture. He wasn't ready for it. No. Not again.

"Father? Grayson is awake but unresponsive. We require pick up immediately!"

The little shadow was kneeling by his side, on hand gently shaking his shoulder.

"Dang, you are burning up... but everything will be alright. Father will get us out of here and you'll be back to your usual hyperactive self in no time"

Dick wasn't strong enough. He had thought his mind broken after hours of listening to his family fall. Apparently he was wrong.

He started screaming again. 


	8. Stab Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just supposed to be Dick helping Jay. Not Nightwing or Red Hood. Just Jason and Dick. And yet it had to end like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! ^^  
I am still kicking! And all of your great comments are the reasons for that! Thank you all so much! <3  
(And for the Subscriptions and Kudos and Bookmarks as well, of course!)  
Special Shout-Out to @barryallen_flarrow! ^^
> 
> Warning: The normal stuff and gracious amounts of swearing because these boys egg each other on

“When you said you needed my help, I kind of imagined something else. Like a lion having somehow gotten into your apartment. Or some sort of ninja trap that needed planning. Not this.”

The only true benefit from being a big brother came from the ultimate right to tease younger siblings. Dick grinned slightly as he looked upon Jason trying to fill out some documents.

“Yeah, yeah, Dickface. Being real funny there. Now get over yourself and help me with this shit”

“La-”

“If you even try to utter the word Language at me, I will have to remind you about all the times I heard you say Fuck on patrol while I was still Robin. You know, young and impressionable and oh so innocent…”

Jason sounded annoyed but Dick knew if his brother were actually irritated he would have already pulled a trigger. Dick was quite happy with their banter for one. It had taken them years to get to this point but now Jason would call him without Dick having to almost die first. 

It was quite impressive, really.

“Oh? Innocent little Robin? Might I remind _you_ of the swear jar that was solely introduced for_ your _potty mouth? What if I learned all that swearing from you? Thought about it?”

“First of all: Did you just say Potty Mouth? Now? In this century? And second of all: If you plan on standing around any longer, get me a beer from the fridge before you move your ass on my couch. You promised me, you’d help, so try to keep it!”

Laughing Dick made his way to the little kitchenette in Jason’s safehouse. Something inside him hurt when he thought about all the years he didn’t have this kind of relationship with Jason. Years where he was angry, years, in which Jason was dead. Years, in which Jason tried to kill them all. Years, where being brothers was too hard or too emotionally loaded or just too much.

But that was over now. They were brothers now. For real. 

Because that stuff Jason needed help with? Doing his first taxes since coming legally back to life. Or his first taxes in general since he died before he had to do them at all.

Dick finally took a seat next to Jason on the couch with two beers in his hands.

“I hope it’s okay that I took one for myself as well, you know, as some sort of payment”

“Shouldn’t be the lack of bullets piercing you be payment enough?”

Contrary to his words, Jason took the beers and opened them before returning one of them to Dick:

“Cheers. And thank you, honestly, bro.”

His little brother was growing up. What a weird thought to have as an almost thirty year old man. Jason was legally 25 now. All grown up. But it wasn’t the guns or the beers or the multitude of apartments that showed Dick that, no, it was his capability to say thanks to a person that wronged him in the past. Most people had that skill their whole lives but for Jason it had been something he had to fight for: Being comfortable enough in himself and his allies to forgive. 

“Fuck? Are you crying?”

Dick might be tearing up a little bit.

“Shut it! I am an old, sentimental person and sometimes you need to let people cry when they help their little bros do their taxes”

“I should have asked Alfred instead”

“Why didn’t you?”

There was honest interest in Dick’s voice. He had asked himself that question since Jason asked for his help. Sure, their relationship was better, but was it that much better?

“Forget it”

Jason had turned back to the pile of documents, color rising in his cheeks. Well, Dick just had to ask again with his brother getting embarrassed like this. But before he could get a chance to do so, a flying projectile pierced the bullet proof windows of the safehouse and embedded itself at the foot of the couch.

It was pure instinct that made Jason and Dick jump before it detonated. 

Not fast enough, was all Dick could think as his body slammed against the glass table they were sitting on. White hot filled his vision for an instant before bleeding into black, taking his consciousness with it.

“Dick! Dickface! Come on! Fuck… DICK!”

A hand slapped him. Not nice. Really, what did he need to do to get an uninterrupted few hours of sleep?

Dick blinked a few times before the person in front of him became less blurry. Jason. Why was Jason the one waking him up? They both didn’t live at the manor anymore. Heck, they never lived there at the same time at all. Then it made **click**:

Taxes. Window. Couch. Bomb. Table.

Table… Dick could feel the glass shards move under his body - and under his skin where they cut right through his clothes and into his flesh. That was probably not good. 

But Dick hadn’t been the only one caught in the explosion. Returning his attention to the world around him graced him with the face of a very anxious looking Jason. There was a cut on his forehead and bruising already started to appear on his jaw. Dick winced in sympathy only to be reminded that there was literal glass shards stuck inside him.

“Hey, Jay… you okay there, buddy?”

Dick wasn’t dumb enough to try to get up. Jason had probably done the best by just not moving him at all. They could easily do more harm than good if they tried to get him somewhere else. But that didn’t mean that Dick wouldn’t at least try to project his need for security and control on Jason. If his little bird was alright, Dick was also going to be alright. That’s how older siblings work. 

“If I am okay? Dick, you ass, you just became one with my fucking glass table, you idiot! Shit. How do you feel?”

Dick was actually trying not to think too hard about how he was feeling. 

“Are you okay, Jason? I need to know if you are alright!”

His voice sounded agitated and that was not at all what he wanted it to sound like. He didn’t want to fight with Jason but taking care of someone was so much easier than being taken care off. He kind of sucked at that.

“Fuck you, Dickhead. But yeah, the bomb was probably intended as a warning and not to actually take me out. The blast of the detonation threw me behind the couch. Except for a few bruised ribs and my face everything is alright. But you are not alright, dipshit.”

Dick relaxed. Or tried to. But even the minimal shifting of his muscles send waves of pain through his entire body. He didn’t need to see it to know that his back was probably a mess. Cut into ribbons. 

“Fuck…”

The curse was more of an exhale. Jason’s dry laugh didn’t really help sooth the burning sensation that cursed through his back now that the shock and adrenaline were leaving his system.

“Good to know that you are still a bastard”

Dick was injured so he didn’t have to hold back when it came to the sensibilities of his more temperamental brother (that and siblings just talked like that).

“Good to know that you are still a normal human being capable of cursing”

Mirrored Jason back and Dick was sure that Jason did it for some weird literary reason. His brother was a nerd like that.

“But seriously, Dick, tell me the usual stuff. Bat-protocol and all. Channel the old man!”

“Why do you only accept him as a part of our history when it comes to situation like these?”

Silence.

“Okay, okay. So… I am hurt. Okay, you knew that. Fuck, okay. There are approximately five pieces of glass in my back, but I can’t be any more accurate because it hurts to hell and back - get it? Because they are stuck in my back - and I can move and feel all of my extremities. There is no blood in my mouth, so a pierced lung is unlikely but other internal- Au!”

Jason had shifted while Dick talked to take his pulse and while doing so the glass around him had moved, too. Dick was a little concerned by the fact that even the smallest of movements seemed to send enormous amounts of pain through his body. 

At least he didn’t have to see the blood. There had to be at least a bit, even though the shards did their best to keep it from flowing freely. And Dick would be lying if he didn’t feel at least a tiny bit woozy.

“Oh, shit! Sorry… but your pulse is at least still going steady. Someone should be here soon enough. And then we can make sure that you get back on your feet in no time - even though I could do without the horrible puns”

“Don’t be like that, Jaybird! You love the puns! Everyone loves them! I am the King of Puns! And i should really stop talking cuz this hurts…. au…”

Dick couldn’t help but grin a little when Jason chuckled at his antics. But he hadn’t been lying. It did hurt to talk loudly or too animated. It send a ripping sensation through his intestines and he would really like to avoid that feeling if possible. 

“Then shut up, you idiot…”

There was so much caring in Jason’s voice that Dick once again asked himself just how the whole family could have spent so much on time on thinking Jason was cold-hearted.

(he knew how, of course. Just remembering that year sent shivers down his spine. Getting one brother back, and then having him try to kill his new bro. Cold times, that had been)

“Yeah, yeah, you know I can’t do that, little Wing. But I might be more inclined to stay silent if you tell me who is coming. Alfred? RR?”

He might also be more inclined to stay silent because staying alert was taking more and more energy. His body was not made to lie still with so much alien stuff in it (Alien as in foreign to his body, not of extraterrestrial origin, don’t worry, Kory). 

“The normal paramedics actually… because this is Jason Todd’s flat, in an okay part of Gotham. A part of the city where the police actually shows up when an emergency gets called in.”

Oh.

“This isn’t your safehouse?”

“No. It was one, a few years ago, but when B said I needed a permanent residence for my legal papers I choose this one because I always liked it. Why did you think I removed all the obvious weapon crates from the living area?”

“A new hobby in interior design?”

Dick could sense Jason’s impulse to hit him but he didn’t dare look at him. He himself couldn’t quite explain what he felt right now. He hadn’t known that this was Jason’s real home. Did that make the attack so much worse? Yeah. But did that also mean that Dick knew his brother even less than he had even thought? Probably also yes. 

He closed his eyes instead. That was easier than dealing with whatever brotherly shit that might start between them.

“Hey, Big Bird. Keep your eyes open for me, yeah? The EMTs are gonna be here real soon”

Dick wasn’t sure why Jason sounded so scared all of a sudden. Hadn’t they just been talking normally?

But when Dick tried to open his eyes again as requested he found that it was way harder than it should be. After a few moments of struggling, he finally managed to do it, only to close them again moments later when his surroundings appeared blindingly bright.

“Fuck. Okay. Dickie, just try to stay conscious, okay? Just for a bit longer, yes? I have to get up open the door for the paramedics. I’ll be back in a few moments… You know what? I’ll just keep talking. I still have to tell you why I wanted for you to help me with my fucking taxes, right?”

Dick tried to hum in agreement but wasn’t really sure if he managed. Why couldn’t he just take a nap? He didn’t even hurt anymore. Some part of him was really concerned by that but the larger part of him was relieved.

Listening to Jason talk while slowly slipping into dreamland sounded like something Dick could enjoy. 

“Okay, so, I wanted you here because you are my big bro, right? The big bird. It felt wrong going to Alfie, that man is a saint and he doesn’t need to put up with something unimportant like that, too. Bruce is out of the question as you know, but you? Dear old Dickie? Man, everyone needs someone to go to for the boring stuff that comes with being an adult…”

Warmth encased Dick’s heart. So, he had been a good brother after all. 

“Into that room! I am doing fine! Take care of my brother, for fucks sake!”

Other people. Other voices. Dick just wanted to listen to his little bro for a bit longer.

“Dick! Hey, hey… I am here, so, Dick, where did I leave off? Yeah, just imagine how embarrassing it would be if I had to ask the replacement for help with my taxes…”

White noise. Pain. Nothing felt warm anymore. Nothing felt at all.

“Move. One of the shards nicked an artery! Bring me the emergency suturing kit! Fast! Kid, get out of here!”

He’s not a kid anymore. Didn’t any of them see how much Jason grew? All grown up Jason, no longer needing Dick. Never needing Dick, but maybe wanting him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… you promised you’d help. We haven’t even started with the taxes yet…”

“I said Move, Kid!”

Nothing.


	9. Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was really not how Dick had hoped to spend his Thursday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! ^^  
I am still kicking and happy to present you with a new chapter!   
Thank you all sooooooooooo much for all the love you send my way with your comments and kudos! <3  
You are the best!
> 
> Warnings: None

When he opened his door early on this particular Thursday, he’d expected the mailman or one of his neighbors, not his partner Amy Rohrbach with a guilty expression on her face.

“Good Morning, Amy? I thought my shift didn’t start until 4 pm?”

Dick really didn’t like the way she took a deep breath. The way she couldn’t look into his eyes. Her voice was smooth however when she finally talked:

“I am here on business, Rookie. Yesterday evening Mr Ricardo Morrell was beaten to death with a shovel near the corner store in front of your apartment. The DNA found on the victim, the weapon, and the surrounding area, together with finger prints and multible shots form cameras in the vicinity of the crime scene point to you as our lead suspect”

Not once had her voice wavered. Dick couldn’t believe what she’d just said. He knew Mr Morell, the man loved his dogs and when Dick took his morning run he often spoke with Morell, who walked his pets at the same time. 

“I… I don’t understand?”

“I think you do. I am here to arrest you for suspected murder of Mr Ricardo Morell, on the 12th of May. I ask you to come with me willingly and to not resist arrest. In case of resistance I am allowed to use force and call for the reinforcement stationed outside of your apartment complex. Do I need to read you your rights or do you remember enough of them from the police academy?”

Dick’s brain lagged multible second behind. What was happening? This couldn’t be happening!

For a moment he amused himself with the idea of jumping out of his window and pulling a Nightwing to get out of this situation but he knew that he could never pull that off without destroying his secret identity. 

But the scene in front of him still made no sense. He? A murderer? Amy? Here to arrest him? He thought they got along better than that. Apparently he had thought wrong.

(Or she was protecting him. From what? No idea)

“Grayson! Did you hear me?”

His attention snapped to her. It was ingrained in him: First Batman, then Amy. Something in his eyes must have reached her because when she spoke her next words, they were deliberately softer:

“You know your rights. You can call your fancy lawyer as soon as we reach the precinct, but I need for you to allow me to arrest you, okay?”

He nodded. He wasn’t even sure if his brain would allow for him to speak, too busy scrambling his thoughts. What the fuck was going on? Was this really happening?

It felt like a dream when he held his arms out in front of him for her to shackle. In that moment he was really relieved that Amy was the one doing the arresting. Just the thought of one of the others, Beckendorf or Smith, getting their dirty, racist cop hands on him, made him sick. He knew that they would make the handcuffs too tight, that they would taunt him, that they would use every possibility to make his life hell.

And suddenly he knew why Amy was the one arresting him. She was looking out for him after all.

He sat on the backseat of their police cruiser for the first time on the way to the precinct.

Slowly his brain came back online. He had been framed. Yesterday evening someone had planted evidence of Dick killing one of his acquaintances while Nightwing was in the Batcave getting debriefed. Which brought him to the worst bit: He had no alibi. At least none he could present to Amy or the Captain without revealing his night job. And then they could book him for illegal vigilante activity. 

He was royally screwed. 

Amy had shielded him from the worst of the other officers waiting in front of his apartment building but getting out of the car when they reached the precinct made him realize that he had to pass all of his colleagues on the way to the holding cells. 

He wanted to throw up. But seeing him barf would only please those fuckers, so Dick bit back down on the vomit and steeled himself.

Because there was only very little uncertainty left when it came to who framed him: The mob, who had two-thirds of the BPD in their pockets. Apparently Officer Dick Grayson had been too noisy. Who would have thought that it would be his day job that would send him to jail?

Amy fastend her grip on his arm before they breached the door. He almost didn’t hear her, when she whispered:

“Eyes and back straight. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you down. These vultures don’t deserve that”

Yeah, Amy had his back. But she was also a stone cold bitch (said with the utmost of respect). Nobody survived this long in a precinct this corrupt without having a titanium spine and the will of a mule. If anyone could get him through the bullet pen without an incident, it was Amy Rohrbach.

And they did.

Dick kept his back straight and his eyes hard. Amy took the shortest route across the room and yet it still felt like a crusade.

When they finally reached the holding cells, Amy pointed him to the phone.

“Use your phone call wisely, Rookie.You only get one”

Who should he call? His lawyer directly? Which one? Bruce? No. Not Bruce. He knew there would be a point in which Bruce would have to be included in this mess, but Dick wasn’t ready to tell his guardian - Batman - that he’d been arrested for murder. 

But he knew someone who could deal with Bruce, the lawyer, and probably world domination if he set his brain to it: Alfred.

With shaking fingers Dick dialed the numbers to the Manor landline. Bruce would be with Wayne Enterprises at this time of the day and Tim had school. Only Alfred could pick up. 

And Alfred picked up:

“Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking”

“Hey, Alfie…”

“Master Dick. What a surprise. What do we owe the honor?”

So maybe Dick should call a bit more often. Whatever. 

His voice didn’t sound like his own when he spoke again and that had nothing to do with guilt over missed Saturday afternoon phone calls:

“Alfie, I am at the precinct and…”

“I would certainly hope so, as you _do_ work there, Master Dick” 

“Alfred. I got arrested”

That seemed to shut Alfred up. Dick hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that but hearing Alfreds usual teasing tone had sent spikes of shame into Dick’s intestines. He had to come clean before Alfred said something too nice which would send Dick spiraling or possibly crying. And he really didn’t want to cry in a bullet pen full of corrupt cops.

“Arrested for what, if I might ask?”

The tone of Alfred’s voice had audibly shifted to something more distanced. Something colder. 

“Murder. Which I did not commit, obviously, but… but… Alfred…”

And now the tears were running down his face anyways. What should he do with this? What was the next step? Getting a Bruce approved lawyer with a fake alibi in here? Paying the Police Captain more than the Mob paid them? 

And why did it have to be murder? Couldn’t they try to get him for something else? Excessive violence, fraud, treason, etc. Everything was better than murder. The one thing they had all sworn to never do. The one thing Batman despised beyond all else.

Hope was quickly bleeding out of his every pore, leaving only despair behind. 

“Shh, boy. I will take care of this. You don’t worry, Young Master, this isn’t my first rodeo with the police and it shan’t be my last. I will inform Master Bruce of this swiftly and the matter should be taken care of shortly thereafter”

“Can you not tell Bruce? I mean, what will he think?”

The irrational fear that had gotten ahold of Dick’s heart wasn’t ready to redact its claws just yet. Some part of him was just _so_ sure that Bruce would never speak with him again because of this. It hurt to think about it.

“I shall do no such thing, Master Dick. Master Bruce will think the exact same thing I thought upon hearing your news: That some sort of horrible misconduct has taken place and that we must do everything to rightfully clear your name. That is what family does, Master Dick. You should know that”

Yes, of course he knew that. Or had known that, but then the Titans happened, Nightwing happened, Jason happened, Tim made himself happen, and, and… and somewhere along the way Dick had lost his believe in the safety of their family.

Well, wasn’t that just sad. Young, lost orphan Dick Grayson feeling betrayed by the billionaire that took him in. Maybe today was just not his day.

“Of course, Alfred. Thank you…”

There was a pause and Dick became painfully aware of Amy standing behind him, making it rather obvious that his phone time was over. If he thought the conversation with Alfred to be painful he didn’t want to know what would happen to a cop in a holding cell. A cop in cuffs. A cop in shackles. 

“Master Dick? Let me rephrase that: I will inform Master Bruce and our trusted family lawyer on my way to the precinct you are currently at, so I can discuss the predicament of your arrest with your superior officer vis-a-vis. Do not fret, Young Master, I shall arrive shortly”

“You don’t have to! Alfred, there is no need-”

“I thought I made myself clear: This is what family does, taking care of each other. And now tell me what kind of cookies the head of your precinct prefers?”

Something in Dick’s chest started to losen up a bit. Maybe things could turn out okay. Maybe Dick wasn’t alone. Maybe there was hope.


	10. Unconscious (Part A)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian finds out about the events of Nightwing #30 under the worst circumstances possible. While his brother is unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! ^^  
All of you make me so darn happy each time I post a chapter! Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback! <3  
I read Nightwing #30 a few days ago (for the first time, but I already knew what had happened) and it made me so mad, so I had to base a little Angst Prompt on it! Tomorrow will deal with the fallout of this chapter!
> 
> Warnings: Abuse Mention

Grayson looked almost relaxed, Damian thought, if it weren’t for the blood that seeped out of a gash on the back of Nightwing’s head.

It had been Two-Faces goons that got the drop on them. What should have been a standard patrol ending in hot chocolate at the Manor, ended with Robin and Nightwing chained to a dirty basement wall.

And with Nightwing being unresponsive. No matter what Damian tried (yelling, kicking, _pleading_) Grayson didn’t answer.

That was really not good. Especially with Batman off world with the Justice League, Black Bat and Batgirl on a mission in Hongkong, and RR on some sort of Young Justice meet up. Imbeciles, all of them. 

Only Oracle and Hood had any chance of saving them now, and Damian would do anything to make sure it wouldn’t come to that. Could you imagine the bragging Todd would engage in if he had to actually rescue Nightwing and Robin? Well, Damian could too and it was something he could live without.

But in order to safe himself, Richard had to wake up. Damian might be aware that his abilities surpassed those of normal plebeians but even he had to admit that hauling the 180 pounds of muscle that Nightwing consisted of, was beyond his capabilities. 

That, and maybe Damian just wanted for his older brother to be okay. Not that he would ever say that aloud. Some things were better left unsaid. Especially when you were Damian Wayne and had a reputation to uphold.

But all he could do was stare at the unconscious form of his brother across the room and hope that Richard would wake up before Damian had to do something drastic. Or before Two-Face came back. That man had some weird fascination with Richard and while Damian didn’t cower before the superstitious and cowardly lot, he knew when to pick his battles. And Two-Face with an injured Nightwing by his side was nothing he wanted to experience.

But he had no idea, what else to do. He would try contacting Oracle but their comm units had been taken, together with basically all of their equipment. There was no way anyone would be searching for them before the night ended because apparently nobody had seen it fit to tell the Gotham vigilantes that Two-Face had yet again made his way out of Arkham.

Sometimes all Damian could do was wonder why his Father was so persistent on protecting this parasite of a city. 

It wasn’t even a pretty city. It was butt-ugly for a fact (and maybe Damian had spend too long with Grayson always prattling on with his schoolyard insults).

On the other side of the room Nightwing groaned.

“Nightwing! Report!”

Damian always responded best to a dominant voice when he was disoriented and all his time spend with Grayson (Richard) let him to believe the same of his former mentor.

“No, Batman…”

Well, that spoke of disaster.

“Gr- Nightwing? This is Robin. Report”

Maybe taking some of the urgency out of his tone was all it took for Richard to come to his senses again. Maybe it would be enough and Damian wouldn’t have to worry about brain injuries along with planing an escape. 

It didn’t seem to work:

“No, I won’t do it. I can’t **stay** dead. I can’t do it to **them**!”

Something inside Damian froze. This didn’t sound like some incoherent rambling, this sounded like a memory. Like something that had happened but shouldn’t have.

Damian’s brain frantically searched for something to say. For something to stop this before it endangered their secret identities. Before he found something out he really didn’t want to know.

“It’s alright, Nightwing. You did well!”

He tried to give his voice a Batman-like quality but his usual skills failed him. He sounded shaky instead, so impossibly unlike Batman. Unlike Father’s Batman. 

Grayson had sounded uncertain once or twice while wearing the cowl, but Damian had long since stopped viewing it as weakness. It had become just another quirk his Batman had that the current one lacked. 

He really didn’t want to know what else the current one lacked.

But his intervention hadn’t helped. Maybe it had even made it worse:

“But T-? J-? Ba-? I can’t!”

The training Richard had undergone had an apparent strong grip on his subconscious, still making sure he censored himself while being caught in a concussion induced fever dream. 

Damian tried to not show his hurt, when his name failed to spill over his mentor’s lips. 

“No! How can you ask me to do this, B? How can you do this to **me**? After **everything** how can you do this to **me**?”

Richard sounded hurt and Damian saw his muscles twitch, caught up in a memory so different from their current situation. He really hoped Two-Face had no audio to the camera placed in the corner of their cell. This seemed to be dangerous information in the wrong hands. 

But at least a time-line started to work itself out. Whatever it was had to have happened during the period in which Damian had been dead. 

He was the ‘Everything’ Grayson spoke of. At least that was what felt true to Damian’s heart.

(So _maybe_, he had gone soft and as long as none of his so-called brothers ever found out, Damian could live with that)

“They’re my family, B-. If I’m dead, If they think I’m dead… after Damian?”

Getting the validation of being right did nothing to sooth the sour feeling in his stomach. The last pieces clicked into place: This had to be during (or after) Richard’s faked death. Damian had known that Richard had not originally wanted to fool his family into believing he’d died but this painted quite a few things in a new light:

Apparently Grayson had died. And apparently Father had taken up harsher methods of convincing Richard to stay so.

But that was not the only thing of concern: Richard’s voice had lost its strength and was now barely more than a scratchy whisper. Damian didn’t know enough about concussions, about the dangers of unconsciousness, to decisively saw if that was a bad or a good change.

“My family… I can’t do it to them… … I just can’t”

Something in Damian’s chest broke. It was just wrong to hear his mentor sound so broken. He might be imagining it, but for a moment he thought he could see tears trying to escape Nightwing’s mask. 

But he would take Richard’s tangled voice any day over the silence that fell once again over the room when Nightwing slippt back into oblivion. But this time his face showed none of the relaxed nothingness it had in the beginning. Now a million emotions seemed to be battling for dominance.

Lack of emotional control was a sign of concussions, right? 

Damian had no idea what to do with himself. Waiting seemed to horrifically insufficient. 

At this point he would even welcome Todd. Just so someone else had to deal with the revelations that Richard had just bestowed upon him. Damian hadn’t been there when Richard died and faked his death due to his own very real passing, but just hearing about the pain first his death and then Richard’s forced exodus had caused made him want to throw up.

He was a kid, for fuck’s sake. 

(And oh, didn’t he just hate admitting that? But sometimes it just rang too true)

Todd would be better equipped in handling this. And wasn’t that just an oxymoron? The crazed Robin better at something that the prodigal one. But Todd had been there during the fallout. Todd had his own troubles with Father. Todd would know what to do. Because as much as it hurt to admit, Damian didn’t.

Richard groaned again. Damian stopped and stared. What if Richard was caught in another memory? What if his brother wouldn’t recognize him?

“Nightwing? Can you hear me?”

At first there was no answer, only a subtle shift in Richards position. But Damian felt more confident now. The slight reaction to his voice had been more than he had received earlier. 

“Nightwing. Report”

“Batman?”

Damian’s intestines froze. No. Not again. He didn’t need to know another dark secret about Grayson. But luckily he didn’t have to:

“No… Da- Robin?”

Relief washed through Damian. Richard sounded slurred and confused and Damian was unsure if he had even tried to open his eyes yet but his brother recognized him again.

“Yes. Good to see that you are finally awake”

Damian wished his tone had been nicer, wished he’d sounded less like Father and more like Richard but he couldn’t do the impossible. 

“Wha- What happened?”

His eyes were open now, Damian could see them trying to adjust behind the mask. For once luck was on their side as the light in their cell was dim and unlikely to burn in Richard’s eyes.

“Two-Face managed to surprise us during patrol this evening. They managed to knock you unconscious in a moment of distraction. And captured me in the following brawl.”

Richard seemed to try and remember what had happened to him but judging by his wrinkled forehead and slight wince, nothing came back to him. Damian could deal with that. He knew just how confusing concussions could be.

(And taking care of this issue made it less urgent to deal with the other stuff. The Batman stuff)

“They brought us here, in this disgusting basement, and shackled us to the wall. Shortly before leaving, Two-Face proclaimed he had some sort of plan. Surly, one of the foolish kind, but he has yet to return”

“Huh”

Nightwing was definitely not up for a daring escape plan. Just thinking seemed to be too much for him right now. Todd was probably really their only chance. 

Especially since Damian had no idea how to proceed. All his earlier plans had focused on Richard regaining consciousness and now that he had, Damian was no step closer to actually figuring out how to turn this situation in their favor.

“Are you okay?”

There it was. The usual Grayson over-protectiveness had finally found its place in Richard’s vocabulary again. Inquires after his well-being would always remind Damian of his time with Grayson as Batman. It send a well known warm feeling down his spine. 

“Yes. The only injury I acquired is a slight bruising on my left torso. Nothing restrictive or incapacitating. More importantly is your own well-being. How are your pain levels? What is the date? And the current location of the team?”

Damian had to access the damage to Richard’s brain as effectively as possible. While long term damage was unlikely now that he was lucid again, Damian had to know with what he was working. Richard seemed to realize the same and didn’t contest the request:

“Hn… My head is killing me… and is that blood tickling down my scalp? But it’s the… the… no idea, sorry, Baby Bird. April? I think we have April… and the team… B is in space… and that’s it?”

It was indeed April but that seemed to be the only thing Richard had been sure about. It was safe to say that confusion still muddled a big part of his brothers brain. Damian was gracious enough to recognize the nickname as a slip up in search of comfort, so he refrained from calling Richard out on it. But that would be a one time thing. 

There were more pressing things to worry about anyways. How to get out of here, was one of them. 

“We have the 5th of April, BB and BG are in HK, RR with YJ, and RB and O are stationed in HQ, and, yes, there is blood running down your scalp. Doubtless thanks to the head wound that is to blame for your concussion. But more importantly what do you suggest from here on out?”

The gaze Nightwing send in his direction made it clear that Richard was not really able to process just what information Damian had just showered him with.

He tugged at his shackles. There was no give. He knew that of course but the illusion of doing something was better than doing nothing at all. And everything was better than thinking. 

“Did something happen, Robin?”

Richard’s voice sounded uncertain and Damian feared that it did so for more than one reason. What should he answer? Yes, you told me that my Father forced you to fake your death which resulted in the whole family blaming you for their trauma and yet you never explained yourself?

Big fat chance. 

Maybe that is why he went with a softer truth, but a truth nonetheless.

“I was worried about you. You didn’t respond when I tried to wake you and your incoherent mumbling grated on my nerves. And… and I failed to free us. We are still prisoners of a madman and you are injured.”

If Nightwing weren’t in his uniform, Damian would bet that he would do his stupid emphatic thing, where he looked you deep into your eyes and told you that everything would be alright. But the lack of direct eye contact did little to stop Nightwing from trying:

“Oh, I am so sorry, Baby Bat. But everything will be alright. Hood will come and safe us and Agent A is going to wait for us at home with hot chocolate…”

Damian didn’t like how weak Richard’s voice sounded. Too weak to offer any real comfort. Damian wanted to tell him just that, when footsteps descended the stairs down to their cell.

It was no longer Damian looking at Richard, but Robin looking at Nightwing when their eyes met again. 

It definitely didn’t sound like any of the Bats they knew, which meant it was-

“Hello, Little Birds of Gotham! Well, I would say chance brought you into my lair but we all know that would be a lie, no, I rigged the game and now I would like for you to choose: Who to live and who to die”

Two-Face.


	11. Stitches (Part B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heavy concussion and some quality time with the bros do everything to undo the stitches that keep Dicks life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! <3  
Thank you all so much for the love you have me! ^^  
Special shout out to @scottmchungup! <3  
Keep the comments and the love coming! xD  
(And this story doesn't reflect my general opinion on Dad!Bat, just the one on Canon!Bruce after Nightwing #30)  
PS.: My new kink: Writing Jason as a responsible adult
> 
> Warning: Concussion, Discussion of Abuse

His head hurt way too much for any of this.

Damian was glancing in his direction, worry apparent on his face, and Dent was standing in front of him, gloating about some thing or another. And Dick just wanted for the world to stop spinning for a moment. 

Well. Fuck. 

This was not the kind of situation he wanted to be in with one hell of a concussion. 

Dent was talking and Dick should really start listening, but it was just so fucking hard. He tried anyway:

“Now I would like for you to choose: Who to live and who to die”

There was something golden in Two-Face’s hand and with a start Dick realized that it had to be his lucky coin. Dick had some very bad memories of that specific coin.

But Dent didn’t stop talking just to let Dick remember things, no, he kept talking:

“This will go down very easily: Nightwing will choose - because I remember how much you love your chances - if I am going to put a bullet through little Robins head or if I’m going to blow the apartment building that hosts George Blake and 15 random families who have nothing to do with my little deal with George. What do you say Nightwing? Head is Robin, Tail is George”

This was… what was he supposed to do? Last time he had chosen wrong and back then Batman had had his back and a person had still died. Now his head wouldn’t stop spinning and Damian was in danger. And Batman was… look, Dick didn’t have to have a clue what the heck was going on to know that any dealings with Dent would end bloody for anyone involved.

Dick realized too late that he was supposed to say something. With a steely resolve Dent had taken the shackles and given them a harsh pull. 

The motion upset the small equilibrium Dick had managed for himself. His stomach climbed up his throat, while the world turned into a swirl of colors, each of them sending a spike through his head. Wow. It had been quite a while since he knocked his brain like this, he thought. But that was the last thought he had for a while because his body choose that moment to start to violently throw up.

It was more reflex than anything else that made sure he at least tried to twist his body, so the sick would land on the floor and not his Nightwing suit. At least most of it. Some of the vomit made its way onto Two-Faces shoes and some part of Dick was weirdly pleased with it. The rest of him was too busy barfing.

It took some time for his stomach to settle down again and at that point a deep exhaustion had settled in his bones. He wanted to sleep the headache away. Some part of him had forgotten that other people were in the room and when Robin’s concerned “Nightwing” finally cut through the haze, Dick wasn’t all too sure if he knew what was going on.

Dent stood in front of him. That seemed important.

The smell of fresh vomit that hit his nose only seconds later helped him regain at least a few of the missing pieces. 

Behind Two-Face Damian had started to look frantic. Dick wished he could reassure the little Bird but his own lack of coordination and the fact that his head tilted sideways whenever he tried to concentrate on Damian made sure he couldn’t reach his little brother. 

But someone else was talking to him. Oh right, Two-Face. 

Dent looked furious from what Dick could see. Really, really furious. That was probably not good. 

His mouth was dry, otherwise some semi-quick comeback would have wowed Dent to hell and back. Maybe he should start listening again. Just maybe:

“You insolente little Fucker! You will pay for this. Make sure you know that this is your fault! And your fault alone! You still have a choice, of course, but the parameters have changed: Robin dies either way, but you decide if he has to watch you die first or hear the sounds of people exploding before his death!”

That was bad. Really bad. Why couldn’t Dick focus on what Dent was saying? Whenever his brain tried to listen, he would just zone out again. 

“Are you even listening, Brat?”

A slap twisted his head around. And around. And around. And around. For a minute the world stopped existing outside of the turning motion. It upset his stomach. But he didn’t retch this time. He had learned his lesson.

It was Damian’s voice that cut through the haze this time:

“Hey! Let him be! Can’t you see that he is barely lucid? Pick on someone your own size!”

His little Bird was a selfless idiot.

Dick wanted to protest, make Dent look at him again but just trying to raise his head made him gag. The world was spinning and it had stopped being fun ages ago. 

“My own size, child? And who would that be? You? Hah!”

“No, but I’m pretty sure, that I am your size!”

Jason. It was Jason! What was Jason doing here?

His brother had breached the room with an explosion of noise and as soon as the commotion reached his ears, Dick succumbed to chaos.

There was no way for him to tell how many people there were or who they were. Everything just hurt his eyes, his ears, his head. 

At some point someone opened the shackles keeping him at the wall and he just fell as if all his bones had liquefied. 

The next thing he knew was that his head laid on someones lap, soft fingers slowly combing through the blood crusted hair. He knew the feeling of Kevlar pants under his head. It felt like home.

“Batman…”

Batman, no, the person stiffened. When the hair combing resumed it was noticeably harsher.

“I’m not Father. I might think I should be grateful for that.”

Damian, then. Why ever he said that. Dick really didn’t have the energy to think about it. Or about anything at all, really.

“Huh?”

The questioning sound had come from him as well as Jason. Jason. His little brother was here! Why again? God, did his head hurt.

Jason was in front of him now. When had that happened? Time seemed to become more slippery in his grasp. What a weird concept slippery time was. But he liked seeing Jason. His little brother called way too seldom.

“Hey, Jay… you gotta call more often!”

Dick didn’t like the way his voice slurred. Didn’t like the way Jason’s answering laugh sounded muffled in his own ears. Did’t like the way everything went constantly out of focus. It made him seasick for fucks sake.

“Yeah, I’ll be doing that. But let’s get you back to the cave and patched up. That headwound of yours looks like it could need some stitches.”

There were hands on him. Jason’s? Damian’s? Dick didn’t know. And when he darkness finally took him back, he no longer had any need for that question. So, whatever…

His consciousness was a feeble thing all the way back to the cave and for some time after. The only thing he remembered with some clarity of that evening after being rescued (and even that was only barely a memory at all) was a short scene in the medbay without any agency on his side at all.

He had been lying there, with Jason standing behind him getting everything ready for stitching him up, when Damian had appeared by his side. For a moment both of them had just existed next to each other, but then both of them had spoken at the same time:

“I have to ask you something, Todd”

“What did you mean when you said you should be happy not to be more like B?”

Jason had placed the first stitch after that and Dick had vanished back into the darkness. 

Three days of bed rest on Alfred’s orders later saw Dick being bored to death in his room without any form of entertainment. Bruce was still off planet and Damian had been unusually cagey since their brush with Two-Face.

He wanted back in his apartment but apparently he couldn’t be trusted. Alfred had told him with a stern look that if Dick should even think about going out before an official okay was given, he would be hunted down. Dick didn’t want to risk it. 

So in the Manor he stayed. 

Currently he sat in the sitting room taking his tea doing nothing since Alfred decided that his head was still too fragile for books or TV. Just because Alfred was probably right, didn’t make it anymore fun. The headaches only plagued him anymore if he stared too long at something or thought too hard. There had to be something he could do!

It appeared the universe had heard his complaint because only seconds later Damian strode into the sitting room closely followed by Jason. Their faces did promise nothing good.

“I would say, good to see you, if this didn’t look so much like an intervention”

Dick tried teasing because he was good at it. Didn’t mean his brothers liked it.

“Cut the crap, Dick, we need to talk”

So, serious mode it was. Both of them were standing in front of him, cornering him. And even though Dick loved them, their stances triggered his flight mode.

“Okay. But for the love of Superman, sit down and pour yourself some tea. I am not going to talk about anything while the two of you are standing”

Maybe he was annoyed. But maybe Dick liked for his brothers to actually greet him and not just demand shit after days of not talking to him. 

Damian tried to huff defiantly but Dick had spent too much time raising that kid. One look and Damian sat down with one of the extra cups in front of him. So Alfred had known, then. This promised to be interesting. 

Jason’s motions were deliberate but he, too, took a seat and a cup. There was static in the air. As the victim of this particular conversation Dick saw no reason in trying to help them start their talk.

It was Jason who offered himself after a few awkward moments of eye contact. Damian still didn’t wanna talk to him directly, it seemed. 

“So, Demon Brat over here told me a few things that your banged up brain apparently decided to dump on him, and we really wanna ask you for confirmation on some of that shit…”

Jason barely sounded like himself. And Dick had no idea where this was going. His memories of that night was spotty at best. His face had to give his confusion away because it was Damian who spoke next:

“When you were still unconscious, you seemed to be living through a few unfavorable memories, and…”

Oh God. What had he spilled? Mirriage? Tarantula? Blockbuster? Chemo? Something else?

His quite obvious distress had made Damian stop and it was Jason who took the reigns in his hands and continued:

“And I am not gonna touch your discomfort with a ten-foot pole since I am a fucked up vigilante, too, and wouldn’t want to have to guess either: You told the Brat what happened between Bruce and you after the Crime Syndicate.”

Dick was honestly not sure if he should be relieved or not. At least some of his secrets were still safe. And that wasn’t even one of the worse ones.

“And? I told all of you that I am very sorry for lying to you and that you deserved better. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Tell us that Bruce beat it the fuck into you?! That you told him No over and over again and he guilt tripped you with your own death - which apparently also happened - until you agreed?!”

Jason wasn’t just angry, he was furious. And Damian seemed to be close behind. And Dick? Dick was utterly lost.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier? I thought you trusted me…”

Damian’s words did nothing to declutter Dick’s head. He could already feel the ache coming. But he had to solve this before he went back into bed. This was apparently nothing that could be left alone. At least according to his brothers.

“What do you want me to say? Give me something because I have honestly no idea what you want from me”

His words propelled Damian back like they were made out of lead. Jason just stared at him for a moment. Sometimes his younger brother had the eyes of someone ancient. But hadn’t all their eyes grown older long before their bodies did?

“I punched you in the fucking face because I believed - was let to believe - that one of my b-brothers had faked their death, a direct fuck you to those of us who have actually died, without you defending yourself just once, only to find out that not only did you actually die, you were also victim of one of B’s bad moods or something. I want you to tell me why. Because I don’t understand either”

Jason sounded so sad. Why were they so sad? Why could no one just be happy that he was alive? Man, he was trying, okay? Dick was growing angry, and he really didn’t want to be angry.

“Why did you never say that Father did these things? I- I came back from my death and you were gone and they you were back and I was happy but… why was it you everyone had to be mad at? Father did everything to bring me back and yet he made sure you would stay dead…”

Well, weren’t his brothers full of big words today. But Dick had enough. There was a headache building up between his eyes and he was done with never being able to make the right choice:

“You know what? I don’t know. I don’t know why I was weak enough to let myself be bullied into working for Spyral without telling anyone of you. I don’t know why Bruce decided I was the expandable son. I don’t know why I never told you that he threw me into one of the suit displays to make me do it. I. DON’T. KNOW. Okay?”

Damian was hiding behind Jason now. And boy, that boy had never looked so much like a child as in that moment. Something sick made its way through his heart. 

“So Bruce fucks you up and you just bear the consequences of his actions?”

Jason had no right to sound so disbelieving. Dick really wanted to laugh. And he did laugh. Even if it made his brothers look at him as if he was crazy:

“You really want to go pulling these stitches? Because they might be the only thing holding this family together. Bruce fucked up with firing me and taking Robin away, I was the shitty brother. You died - oh my god, you _died_ \- and Bruce blamed me because I created Robin. I died and was forced to stay dead, and Bruce told you it was my idea and I never said otherwise. Why, you ask? Because me shutting the fuck up is the only thing that keeps this family a family.”

He was on fire. Somewhere at the beginning of his rant, he stood up and now standing, he felt ready for a crusade. Against whom? He had no idea.

“If it keeps me being miserable for you guys to talk to each other, I happily shoulder that burden. That’s my job as your brother. But don’t you dare come here and demand an answer as if I have wronged you by any of this. This is my responsibility, and mine alone.”

He was ready to rant on, but Damian interrupted him. Dick was surprised by the hard look in his Little Birds eyes:

“No. It isn’t! You are not alone in this family and if Father hurt you then we need to know…”

“Listen to the Brat. Imagine someone hurt him and he didn’t tell you because he thought it was his ‘job’. You would be furious. Let us be furious for you, too”

How…? Why…? Why wouldn’t they understand? All his brothers had finally gotten along when he came back from Spyral. They had even been talking to Bruce. Dick didn’t have it in him to destroy the peace. 

It didn’t matter that that was yet something else to bury deep inside as long as his family got along. If they started pulling the threats now, Dick as a whole would just become undone. 

But he also didn’t know how to answer. 

Instead he just looked at his brothers, who themselves seemed to have just survived a war. This was a conversation that should have never taken place. 

“If Father had pulled the same trick with me, what would you have done?”

“I would have torn him to shreds with my bare hands without even stopping to think about it. But he would never do that. I wouldn’t have left you with him if I thought that to be a possibility”

Dick’s answer was immediate. He didn’t even have to think. He also didn’t have to think before crossing the divine and pulling Damian into a tight hug. 

The boy smelled of soap, and Titus, and home. He had missed hugging Damian. 

“And what makes you so sure? What makes you think that you are worth so much less than the rest of us?”

That’s Jason. Dick had to look up from where he buried his face in Damian’s hair just to see the distressed eyes of his brother. Dick would have never thought that Jason would be the one so deeply affected by their talk.

“Isn’t it obvious? I am the first Robin, the faulty first try. Didn’t even get adopted till I was in my twenties. I’m just here so someone does the emotional labor. But at the end of the day I am expandable. And I stand by what I said: Better me, than anyone else”

Now Jason was crying. The world was tilting again, and this time there was no concussion to blame. Jason wrapped his arms around the little pile of Dick-Damian. His voice was rough when he whispered:

“For fucks sake, Dick. We all love you. You are the annoying Golden Boy. Friend of Everyone. God, your funeral was a national event. People out there love you since you wore the scaly pants. And in this family? You aren’t any more expandable than any of us. Please don’t take away our right to own up for our mistakes. Let us say sorry. And yeah, we all thought I would never say this: But we are a bunch of royally fucked up kids, but we are a family.”

“Todd! I can’t breath!”

“We were trying to have a moment here, Gremlin!”

And Dick had to laugh. For real this time. But with each barking laugh came the urge to cry. And before he knew it he was sobbing into his brother’s shirt. Tears flowed freely and for a moment Dick wondered when the last time had been that he had cried like this. He honestly couldn’t remember. 

And didn’t that just make him want to cry harder. 

Damian was smashed against him and if he never had to let his brother go, Dick would be okay with it. Jason’s embrace was the only thing holding him up and just the fact that it was Jason - Jason! - holding him, gave Dick hope. If the black sheep could thrive then maybe so could he.

They had finally pulled the stitches.

Maybe it was time to start healing.


	12. "Don't Move"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a simple Click that took the evening from Pretty Normal to Fucking Awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!!!  
Here I am again! A bit latter than usual because I hadn't had this chapter prepared and I'm working on almost no sleep here, but I deliver!  
(Please be nice to me regarding my spelling-- I had even less time to check it than usual)  
But thanks again for all your love and encouragement! <3  
You guys are awesome! 
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of Past Character Death, Panic Attacks

The click noise that echoed down the hallway when Nightwing stepped on one of the floor tiles, was the first clue that this night wouldn’t go as planned. 

The second clue was the frantic yell of “Don’t Move!” from Tim further down the hallway.

Now, Dick had been in the game for quite some time, so he knew what that click meant. Most likely some sort of trigger for some sort of trap or bomb. Well, there went his evening plans.

“I’ve got it! Not moving anywhere!”

Dick tried to keep his voice light. Was this the worst that ever happened to him? Not by a long shot. Probably not even in the Top 50 of his worst day on earth (or space) moments. But did it suck anyways? Yeah.

Pressure plates always meant standing around for an ungodly amount of time. And for someone as motion-obsessed as Dick, just standing still for a prolonged amount of time almost equated torture.

Tim was kneeling in front of him now, slowly examining the piece of floor Dick was standing on. The mechanism behind the trap had to be complicated since Tim didn’t smile when he looked up again. 

“It looks like a high sensitivity mechanism. I’m unable to say what it’s connected to but let’s assume its a bomb. Which means you need to keep really still until I found out where exactly the cables lead to”

Dick knew all of that already but he could respect his brothers need for safety and clarity. But this was gonna royally suck. The muscles in his calves already started to cramp up since Dick had been in motion when he triggered the sensor. And that meant tense muscles all the way up his legs.

“You do that, Robin. Should I call the bomb situation in or do you want to?”

Letting Tim keep the control of the situation seemed counter intuitive but was probably for the best. Dick’s job was to stand as still as possible while Tim did everything to make sure he wouldn’t blow up. Easy-peasy. 

“You can call it in. I want some quiet while I try to figure this out”

“You do that!”

Normally Dick would hug his little brother right about now but that wasn’t an option. So some verbal encouragement had to do. Busting Tim’s spirit that had to be done with care. No matter how much love you showed that kid, Tim would always question if you really meant it. And Dick did mean it.

He activated his comm unit:

“Hey, O! Nightwing here. Me and Robin hit a little tight spot on patrol tonight.”

“Cut the crap, Nightwing, and tell me what you need and if I should send B your way”

Ah, Barbara was a delight. Her no nonsense attitude had saved many lives in Gotham, many of them Gotham vigilantes’. 

“I stepped on a pressure plate. Robin says it’s one of the high sensitivity ones. We don’t know if it’s a bomb yet, but we were scouting out an abandoned house rumored to belong to the Black Mask, so something nasty is likely.”

Oracle was silent for a moment and only the sound of keys being hit was heard over the comm unit. She was probably tracking them down, searching for every information the internet was capable of giving her.

“I called the Bat in. ETA: 15 minutes. You good til then?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just getting a bit bored”

Tim had left his sight some minutes ago, hunting down his lead. Now Dick was alone in a creepy hallway with a leg that wanted to cramp up. 

“Sorry, Boy Blunder, I’ve got places to be. But inform me when the situation changes, yeah?”

There went his hope for a nice little chat with Barbara. 

So, that meant waiting. Great. He was good at that. He could do it. Pff, no problem.

(Please note the sarcasm)

His leg wanted to spasm but a will steeled by the Batman stopped it. He had been holding his position for almost twenty minutes and hadn’t even dared to move his arms in any larger fashion than a slight change of position. He really couldn’t risk accidentally changing his center of gravity. One little mistake and him and Tim were dead.

But most importantly it was the boredom that got to him. He hadn’t liked stakeouts when he was a kid and he certainly didn’t like them now. And a stakeout provided you with the possibility of movement. Of at least small changes of posture. Of muscles that could relax before they started screaming.

Yeah, his muscles would be jelly tomorrow. He was so not looking forward to it.

Bruce would show up soon and then he and Tim could take care of everything and Dick could finish patrol and fall into his bed. Maybe eat some hot dogs before finally going to sleep. A nice bath full of scented oils would certainly help, too.

Just some standard post-patrol vigilante stuff. 

Didn’t that just sound like the perfect evening? Dick was ready for it.

It was then, that a tremor racked down his leg. For a moment he forgot how to breath. He just stood there, staring at the small movement of his calf. How his body had betrayed him. 

Nothing had happened but only this time. Maybe next time the tremor would be stronger, maybe next time would be enough for him to lose his balance. Maybe that was all it took for him to kill him and his brother.

There were too many variables for him to fuck up.

So, of course, Batman chose this moment to appear in front of him.

“Geez, Old Man, if you want me to accidentally blow us up just tell me so!”

The best way of dealing with Bruce had always been overconfidence and a performers smile. It didn’t fool him or anything but it made sure that he had not enough time to dig too deep. It worked with Dick’s more private issues and with his vigilante secrets. And it worked now.

“If you were actually aware of your surroundings like I taught you to, I shouldn’t be able to surprise you.”

Why did everything Bruce said always sound so disappointed? With Bruce knowing that Dick was nervous, he was still unable to sound anything less like a disapproving father. Which he was, just to be fair.

“I know, B. I know”

But there was no point in arguing the finer points of their interactions right now. Now they had a mission and the mission always came first.

“Nightwing, report”

And Nightwing did. It was hard to read Bruce’s expression through the heavy cowl but Dick thought he saw some lines of concern, especially when Dick explained that Tim had made his way down the hallway, figuring out the source of the wiring.

Dick could see that Bruce wanted to go after Tim, wanted to check on the still inexperienced Robin, when said boy appeared on top of the stairs that led into the hallway. His face spoke of even more bad news. 

“Robin”

“Batman! I...”

The boy looked between the two of them before continuing with his report:

“I traced back the cables from the mechanism. They lead to a complicated machine that I was able to identify as a bomb after looking at it for a bit. My guess is that this trap was here long before Black Mask decided to use the house. It seems to be much older and more integral to this place than anything he has ever done before...”

The way Tim’s eyes lit up while talking about the complex machinery hiding in the belly of this particular old house was endearing. His little brother was so excitable and precious and young... and completely missing the point. Luckily, it was Batman’s job to do the reprimanding:

“Robin, focus! What can you tell us about the workings of the bomb?”

Tim snapped back into focus. 

(Dick did, too. But he didn’t want to think about the meaning behind his bodies automatic response to being called Robin. Especially not when Batman used _that _specific voice)

“I have seen no obvious way to disarm the bomb or the mechanism. All of the cables connecting the pressure plate with the machine are isolated and enact an automatic response when forcefully cut. The bomb itself seems to be based on a high pressure explosion. The whole thing is too old for it to use C4 or dynamite without it having already lost it’s explosive force... and sorry...”

Again, Dick wanted to hug Tim, tell him that getting yelled at by Batman was part of the whole Robin stick, that this was definitely not the worst it could get, but once again Tim showed him why he was Robin: His back was straight, his eyes firmly on Bruce. 

Nobody was gonna kick this bird down.

“Hn... It seems like you have to stand a bit longer, Nightwing”

Oh, yeah, there was that. 

His legs were definitely cramping at this point but Dick tried to not let it show on his face. If Tiny Tim was able to withstand Batman’s gaze than Dick should be able too. No more disappointed Bat-Dad tonight. 

With a dramatic swish of his cape, Batman vanished down the stairs. If anyone told him that Bruce wasn’t a theater kid ever again, Dick would throw a tantrum. As it was, he only looked at a stunned Tim.

“He really likes his exits, doesn’t he?”

“And his entries”

Tim grinned when he looked at him then. This were the moments Dick tried to create between them. He had fucked up so badly with Jason that he would rather die than let his relationship with Tim go down a similar route. Hm, that might have been a bad choice of words.

The burning sensation in his calves was distracting. And without having to look down, Dick knew that his legs were trembling. 

Batman had to have noticed too. There was no way he didn’t. But he hadn’t said anything and honestly, Dick was happy with that. They both knew that Dick couldn’t stand like this for much longer. They both knew that sooner rather than later they would definitely know just how sensitive the pressure plate was. 

And they both knew that Tim didn’t have to find out. At least not right now. Maybe when they were running from the hopefully delayed explosion. But until then... Dick was keeping Tim busy and Tim kept him from triggering anything.

“So... how is school?”

As often as people described Dick as witty, they never once told him he was good at small talk. He honestly kind of sucked at it. As proven by yet another horrible try to talk to Tim outside of Robin.

When Dick meant that he was making sure their relationship was better than the one he had with Jason, he never said that it was smooth sailing. 

“School is school. It kind of sucks. Everything is just so... boring”

In that aspect Tim was really more similar to Dick than to the second Robin. Dick had hated school (the reason why he dropped out of college at the first opportunity) because he couldn’t sit still. His fatal flaw yet again ready to make life impossible. 

Tim on the other hand was just too intelligent for school. That boy needed a challenge and currently the only one he found was being Robin. And that was okay. It was his and Batman’s job to make sure that it would stay okay. 

Before he could ask yet another dumb question, Dick’s comm unit came back to life: 

“I’m coming back up again. I want to look at the pressure plate one for time before I cut any cables”

Dick smiled at Tim. Apparently Bruce had a plan. Something. His legs didn’t have to suffer much longer.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Batman’s cowl slowly coming up the stairs.

A hot bath would be in his near future, he just knew it.

Which was why, naturally, his legs gave out under him.

Tim didn’t react but both Bruce and Dick did. No, Nightwing and Batman did. In a split second without thinking they both reached for Robin.

Nightwing was much closer, of course. His legs wouldn’t support him but he still managed to slam his own body on top of Robin’s, sliding them down into the hallway. Closer to Batman. Closer to safety.

He draped his whole body around the small figure of Robin. He wouldn’t lose another brother. No. Not today. Not ever.

Pictures of Jason flashed across his eyes. A dead body, one he only saw on pictures. Tim wouldn’t be the next one. No.

No.

It took multible rattling breaths for him to realize that there had been no explosion. That no fire was eating his flesh. That burning pain and blinding noise hadn’t consumed him. Or Tim.

It felt like an out of body experience, looking at Tim. His heartbeat was roaring in his ears but all he could see was Robin curled up under him. Safe. Alive. Breathing. Unhurt. 

His little brother was alive.

And for one horrible moment Dick forgot that Jason was still dead. That he had saved one of his bros but not the other. That Jason was never going to come back, no matter how often he rescued Tim, no matter how much of a relationship he built with him.

Someone was talking to him. Batman? Probably Batman. But when he looked up, Bruce was just as shell shocked as he was. Underneath the cowl, Bruce appeared ashen. Dick didn’t want to know how he looked. 

His gaze returned to Tim, not yet ready to stop looking at his alert and alive eyes. His eyes caught on Tim’s moving lips. So his brother had been the one talking to him. Huh.

“Hey, can you get off me? You are kind of heavy... are you crying? Is everything alright? Are you hurt?”

Ah, yes, he was crying. Bawling his eyes out to be more correct. His brain couldn’t believe what it was seeing, too caught up in things that happened years ago. The image of Tim before him switched violently between the second and the third Robin. His first and his second little brother. 

Dick didn’t want to know what Bruce was seeing right now.

He had thought they were over it - or as over as you can possibly be over the death of a child. But this was the first time Dick ever had to fear for Tim’s life and it was terrifying. He couldn’t do it.

Tim started to try and wiggle his way out of Dick’s embrace but the movement snapped Dick back into his body:

“No. Don’t move. Please, don’t move”

And Tim did stop moving. Relieved Dick pulled Tim into his arms. Everything inside his body was shaking. Scratch that. He was shacking on the outside too.

“Don’t move. Stay. Don’t move”

His voice had become a mumble. Still he was surprised when Tim’s slim arms sneaked around Dick and hugged him back.

“I’m staying. Don’t worry, I’m gonna stay”

In the distance stood Batman, watching over them, keeping them safe while Dick cried. 

In the distance Batman made sure that his sons were alright, wishing but not engaging that that hug had space for him too.


	13. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started like most horror stories do totally inconspicuous. It wouldn't stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!   
Day 13 and still going strong! ^^  
Thank you guys for all the love! (But I think AO3 didn't send out the E-Mails for the Subscribers, so check yesterdays chapter if you haven't yet!)  
Please take the warnings for this chapter serious! Love you! <3
> 
> Warning: Stalking, Panic Attacks, Threat of Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault

It started like most horror stories do totally inconspicuous. 

Dick came home from the precinct one day and someone had left a post-it note on his apartment door. The text on it was nothing to be wary of, it just said: “Saw you smile on your way to work today. Totally made my day! :)”.

It made Dick happy actually. One of the other tenants had their day brightened just because of Dick’s attitude. And people said chivalry was dead. 

But the post-its kept coming. 

They appeared in more and more suspicious places. His desk at work, the toilet of his favorite pizzeria, the fire escape in front of his bedroom window. And the messages got creepier, too.

“God, I just love the way your thighs move in your uniform”

“You should eat healthier - wouldn’t want for that body to lose its allure”

“You look so adorable when you sleep”

It was starting to scare him. Badly. Which each week that passed, with each message that appeared, Dick felt more and more pressured to do something.

But he didn’t know what. He never felt anyone follow him. He was constantly vigilant, trying to keep his surroundings under surveillance but nothing, nada, not even a suspicious leaf. 

Calling Bruce was not an option. With the new kid running around as Robin and their fights still standing between them without an apology on either of their sides, calling his guardian (Not father! Never father…) was impossible.

Dick Grayson had to deal with this alone. 

Which was naturally when it started to get worse.

Five weeks after the first note, Dick returned from patrol only to find a gift basket on his kitchen table. The basket was full of his favorite cereals, some fresh fruit, and a letter. 

His hands were shaking when he reached for it. He really, really didn’t want to do read it, but Batman murmured “Every piece of information can be crucial to the case” in the back of his mind, so he did.

“Dear Richard,

I know you prefer being called ‘Dick’ but isn’t that just unbecoming of a man your age? So, I will be calling you Richard. It is the name you deserve. A name fitting of someone so graceful and perfect as you are. A man made to reign. 

This little gift is here for you to enjoy after some strenuous night work. But try to remember to eat healthy. We wouldn’t want you to get sick now, would we?   
I enjoy watching you work too much for that. It is like watching a powerful dance, so much grace coiled up in one perfect body. 

You should really work on your security, by the way. Burglars could just easily break in, and we don’t want that. I took some liberties in reinforcing your door for you. There is no need to thank me. 

I will be watching over you,

X”

Dick barely made it to the bathroom, before he got violently sick. That letter crawled all over his skin, leaving marks of vile words uttered in complete devotion, sick thoughts clinging to his skin, thinly veiled threats hanging over his head.

No, no, no, no,…

Was he crying? He was crying. And panicking. He needed to do something. Shower! But what if that creep had left more than just a gift basket? What if they had ways of watching him?

Dick retched again. Only bile came up, leaving him with a bitter taste and a strung out feeling.

He needed to leave his apartment behind. The letter had made it sound as if his stalker knew about Nightwing. Fuck.

If that was true, Dick had to disappear completely for a while. At least until the creep was caught. And he needed to catch that creep. 

His whole body was shaking from the pure form of panic cursing through his veins. He felt sick and dirty and lost and alone and…

He should call someone. But who? Barbara? Their last breakup was only weeks ago and they hadn’t talked since. Not yet. If it came down to it, if something else happened, Dick would call her. Promise. But not right now. He needed someone who wouldn’t ask questions. Or at least not the right questions. 

He needed Amy.

It took him way too long to call her. He packed a bag, his phone, and his work clothes before leaving his flat, making sure to evade any kind of camera on his way down to the street. Only when he was sure - but hadn’t he been sure before? - that nobody was watching, he dialed her number.

“… hello?”

Her voice was sleepy and suddenly Dick remembered that is was 3 am. Fuck. He wanted to cry.

“Amy?”

He sounded so small. So lost. So unlike Dick Grayson.

“Rookie? Why the fu- heck are you calling me at ass o’clock in the night?”

“Amy, can I sleep at your house tonight? I… I need to get out of my apartment… please? Amy?”

There was silence on the other side of the line, until he heard a soft sound of sheets rustling and a whispered “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be back soon”. Oh, Amy had a husband. And two kids. Fuck. Dick had never wanted to interfere with her well deserved family and sleep time. But… but she had been the only one to call. 

Her voice sounded less muffled when she spoke to him directly:

“Where do I pick you up? I’m on my way”

Wow. He had to appear even more scared than he had thought. 

“I… I’m in front of my apartment right now, but I can walk somewhere else. You don’t need to drive the extra mile for me…”

Oh, he hated just how lost he was.

“Let me pick you up, Rookie. Let me do that for you”

And he did.

When her car appeared in front of him half an hour later, Dick hadn’t moved. Without stopping or looking back, he got into her car. A sleepy Amy, clad in a coat and pajamas, greeted him:

“You look like shit”

"Thank you"

They drove to her apartment in silence.

He went to work the next day, even though Amy almost begged him to stay at her house instead. But he had to do this. He had to find a routine, something to cling to, while his brain tried to figure out what the next logical step would be.

And everything seemed to work out just fine. He went to work, did his desk duties, and returned home to Amy. That was also a demand from her. He told her that he felt watched in his home, that he could do nothing because there was no evidence, so she let him sleep on her couch. 

He didn’t deserve Amy. Heck, the whole BPD didn’t deserve her.

But he got lazy. Lost his constant vigilance. He made mistakes.

And he was surprised by the letter that appeared on his desk a week later. His stomach dropped even before he opened it. Cold sweat drenched his uniform. 

He read it anyway:

“Hello Richard,

I must tell you how very disappointed I am in you. Running to your friends house when someone does you a favor, isn’t very becoming. You hurt my feelings.

I think I need to punish you for your insolent behavior. But you wouldn’t want that, would you? And I am not unreasonable. As long as you return to your own apartment after your shift, your friend should be alright. I know how much you love your friends and I respect that. So, don’t make me do something we both regret.

Thank you so much for your consideration, Richard.

X

PS.: I left you a gift at your apartment. Use it wisely”

No. No, no, no, no…

His blood ran cold, ice burned his insides, fear ran through his heart.

Amy. He had gotten Amy involved. Upstanding, married, awesome Amy, who shouldn’t have to deal with his crap. He had to… he had to return to his own house. He had to return into the lions den. 

But first, he had to call Barbara. As soon as his hands stopped shaking so bad that it would be impossible to dial her number.

When he finally got his phone to work only her voicemail answered him:

“Barbara Gorden, being busy, keeping busy, calling you back as soon as possible”

“Hey, Babs. I… I have a problem on my hands, you know. I think someone is stalking me. And… and they are threatening my friends. I honestly have no idea what to do anymore… I am scared, Babs… I-”

*BEEP*

The voicemail stopped recording. Tears were running down his cheeks. Barbara would listen to his message. And she would know what to do. She always knew what to do. 

A look on his watch told him it was time to go home. He had to face his nightmares if he didn’t want other people, innocent people to get involved.

Every step he took to bring him closer to his apartment filled his body with lead. And yet he took each of them. He was a calf being brought in front of his butcher. And even though he was slow, walking as if in a trance, he eventually reached his front door.

His phone vibrated. It was Amy, probably calling to ask him where he was. He declined. He was alone for this now. It was him against the world. Him against whatever waited for him on the other side.

He unlocked the door. 

His apartment was silent, deserted. The only sign that someone had been here, was the missing fruit from the gift basket a week ago, and a new one standing right next to the old one.

Dick took a step towards his table. The door fell into its lock behind him.

The basket held a couple of snacks, handcuffs, and a sex toy. He recoiled as if burned. This was taking on an undertone that made Dick’s skin crawl to an even worse degree. 

His mouth was dry when he took the note, tucked away behind the toy. He really didn’t want to read it. It was open before he had time to process it. His hands were working against him. His stomach was turning. 

Every aspect of his situation came to him in pieces. Nothing connected anymore. Not wanting to read the note, quickly followed by his hands folding it open anyway. Just impressions, one after the other.

His eyes focused on the written words:

“Dear Richard,

I see you made the correct choice. Such a good boy.   
I was quite distraught when you disappeared on me. I was worried and hurt but I understand. Sometimes a bird has to stretch its wings before settling down. 

And I let you stretch your wings for quite some time, don’t you think? Don’t you think it’s time for some serious commitment between the two of us? 

Please don’t be mad, but I choose your apartment for our more permanent residence.”

He had to stop at this part. His breathing was erratic, he… he couldn’t quell the panic anymore. What did that mean? What had they done? Fuck. Oh god.

Dick turned around, trying to figure out what had changed, only to see a new lock on his door. One he didn’t know. One he didn’t have the key to. One which looked suspiciously sealed. 

His heartbeat sped up. Adrenaline cursed through his veins. His eyes searched for every possible exit, only to find his windows screwed shut, the glass bulletproof by Batman’s design. 

No, no, no, no, no…

He wanted to scream and curse and throw himself against the door but his eyes found the letter instead. He had to finish reading it. Had to find out what other horrors awaited him.

“I won’t come home for a few more days but don’t wait for me to pleasure yourself. I have ways to watch. As a fact, I would rather enjoy it. So, don’t be shy, my boy. 

I can’t wait for our life together to begin. I know you are just as excited for it as I am. Waking up together, living together, never being apart. Don’t worry, it is soon to be your future. 

After all you made a choice. And you choose me. Thank you for that, Richard. It is good to know that you want it too. 

Until we meet,

X”

Dick knew that the use of pronouns and the phrasing was deliberate, a way to emotionally manipulate him, and yet he still felt the need to take a shower and wash each and every word of his skin. 

Nausea was bubbling in his stomach and tears wanted to escape his eyes. There was a need to destroy something, to rip his hair out and rage. 

He had to get out of here. He had to escape. He had to be his own hero. 

But when he looked at his phone, the device was dead. 

Clicking buttons, turning it on and off again, wielded only one conclusion: He had no way to contact the outside world. 

He was truly, completely and utterly alone. 

He spend the next few hours trying everything: Throwing himself against the windows, trying to hack the lock at his door, activating the fire alarm, tinkering with his technical devices. But nothing worked. It almost seemed like his apartment had stopped existing like a normal apartment and had instead decided to become a perfect prison cell. 

He threw the sex toys and handcuffs away, at first also wanting to destroy the food portion of the basket, but soon he realized that there was no other food in the apartment besides the one his stalker had left him.

They knew what they were doing. And Dick didn’t like that one bit.

The churning notion in his stomach had become his constant companion and when the first night of his forced isolation came around, his blood ran cold. He wasn’t gonna get out of this one. At least not on his own. 

His only hope was his voicemail to Barbara, assuming it had reached her. That weren’t odds he liked.

When no one came the following day, Dick started to wonder what his friends would think. What Amy would think. If anyone was searching for him. Would Bruce be notified? Would he even care now that he had a son? A kid he actually adopted? What if Dick needed his dad, too?

There was still nobody the day after that. Dick had succumbed to the need to rage, destroying his living room, yelling, screaming, kicking, but nobody noticed. Nobody reacted. When he finally showered that day, ha made sure to hurry along. It felt like losing, somehow. It felt like giving up. He hadn’t given up. Yet.

A day later, he woke up to the sound of footsteps in his kitchen. His first instinct was relief. Someone came. He was no longer alone. Maybe someone would finally take him out of this prison. And then he remembered.

With one swift motion he was on his feet, adrenaline sharpening his senses. But even his alert eyes and ears couldn’t prepare him for the shadowy form fazing into his room. 

At least now he knew how the creep had gotten into his apartment. It wasn’t really all that relieving. 

“Hello Richard. I see you redecorated our living room. I like the more rustic look but you should really ask next time”

The voice send shivers down his spine. Smoke pressed so dense it became tangible. But Dick wasn’t ready to yield just yet:

“Well, I would say that it was my decision and mine alone, as I am the only occupant of this apartment. And now I would really appreciate it if you left. Whoever you are. Get the fuck out!”

His words made no difference. The shadow creature just laughed.

“Oh, Richard, how funny you are. You invited me in, don’t you remember? You came back. And that was all I needed to be able to stay. And you know who I am. I am X. Your partner, your future”

“No! Get the fuck out!”

Dick didn’t hesitate before slamming his fist into X’s face. Or where he thought it would be. His fist passed through air. The high kick that had aimed at the creeps stomach didn’t meet anything either. 

X appeared behind him. This time there was no laugh in his voice:

“That is not very nice, Richard. Do I need to punish you? I don’t want to but I will”

“You can try, you bastard!”

With that Dick tried to punch him again. Only this time his fist met something. And got stuck. His whole arm was stuck in shadow and when Dick’s eyes trailed upwards, X showed him his teeth. He hadn’t even known that X had teeth. It was unsettling. 

Even more so when X yanked on his arm, causing him to stumble. The shadow was creeping up his arm now onto his shoulder, slowly encasing his whole upper body. Dick tried to scramble back but his frantic actions seemed to encourage X to proceed. 

“Just know that I don’t like to do this”

The shadows were caressing his cheeks now. Tears were spilling from Dick's eyes at a frantic rate. He wasn’t ready. No. But his arms wouldn’t move, his legs were useless and some part of him had given up when Barbara didn’t safe him in time.

X pressed him down on the floor. Dick had no room to wriggle out of this situation and his brain was unable to come up with anything that might help. His mind was screaming. Pure panic kept him in place even without the darkness pressing him down. 

All he could see was shadow. Static filled his brain.

No, no, no, no, no, no…

His door exploded inwards. And only moments later X was ripped away from him.

“Mih morf yawa lleh eth teg! Nosrep siht dna, ytic siht, esuoh siht morf ouy hsinab I! Enogeb!”

Zatanna stood in the doorway, Barbara only a few steps behind her. Dick’s brain was unable to process what he was seeing. They had found him. They had finally found him!

But why only now? He was just hidden away in his own apartment. Why had nobody come any earlier?

Barbara wheeled herself into the room, crossing the space swiftly to come to a halt next to him. Her eyes shone with tears ready to spill. For him. She was crying for him. He didn’t understand.

It was more instinct than conscious decision that made him put his hand up for her to hold. What the fuck was going on? He wanted to cry and wait for answers and never return to this place. He had just lost his home again. 

“Hey, Dick. You alright?”

His eyes met hers and they must have told her enough, because her only reaction was a dry chuckle.

“Yeah, makes sense. I am so sorry, Dick. So, so sorry!”

“Why? Why now? I called you ages ago…”

“I… I searched for you after I got the call. I did. But you just vanished. There was no way to trace you. Not even Zatanna could find you until something - or someone - breached the wards placed around you. And that only happened half an hour ago…”

Dick just stared. He was in shock, a remote part of his brain proclaimed. The rest of him just failed at existing. Laying on the floor until the world was okay again seemed like a great plan.

Barbara was still looking at him.

“I was so scared that you died and I had been too late. Especially when your colleague called me to ask for you. She told me that you’ve felt watched. She’s the reason I called Zatanna in the first place… I am so sorry, Dick. But we are gonna fix this”

He didn’t know why she was so sure. But okay. 

In the back, Zatanna got her phone out:

“I think it’s time we call the big Bat. He is worried enough at it is…”

Maybe Babs was right. Maybe they would be able to fix this. 

Just not today. Today he would cry himself into exhaustion. And that was also okay.

Babs squeezed his hand. 


	14. Tear-stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows the story of how Robin came to Batman. But what about the story of Bruce choosing Dick?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
I am here with Day 14 and some Bruce and tiny Dick interaction!   
Thank you all so much for all the love! <3  
Your comments fill me with so many warm and fuzzy feelings! And your Kudos! And the Bookmarks! And the Supscriptions!   
Have fun! <3
> 
> Warning: Bruce being a dick for a hot minute, Neglect, Racism (not by Bruce, don't worry)

When Bruce decided to take in the Grayson Boy he thought he would get a traumatized but relieved little boy. Bruce had freed him from the Detention Center after all. He had given him a new home, a big one at that.

Bruce should have known better. He could see it in the disappointed frown on Alfred’s face each time he reacted badly to the child’s mannerisms. Heck, he could see it each time in his own face when he returned from patrol only to find a little boy sleeping in front of Bruce’s bedroom with tear-stained cheeks.

Richard was moody and distrustful, his energetic nature only seemed to resurface during the most inconvenient of circumstances. And he never spoke. He only heard the boy scream at night in a language almost impossible to learn.

And Bruce was lost.

Alfred had raised him after his own parents death and he couldn’t ever remember being such a difficult child. At least not until he reached his adolescence. He had been silent and withdrawn, too, but it felt so much deeper with Richard.

“Maybe if you talked to the young sir, Master Bruce” was all Alfred had to say on the matter, but Bruce was too busy to attend dinner that night yet again because of a clue regarding Zucco. That was the reason he had taken in the boy after all: To bring justice to the boy’s family and to make sure he no longer had to suffer under the Gotham CPS. 

But he was no longer sure if it was a good idea. He wasn’t fit to be a father. He was the Dark Knight, not the Batdad. Maybe it was time to quit this little experiment and send the boy to a family that could love and protect him.

For a moment Bruce imagined calling Clark. But the Justice League had only just been established and who knew how Kryptonians raised their kids. No, if he decided to do this, he needed to do it right.

Find Zucco and bring him to justice. Find a family safe enough for Richard. Move on from this little adventure.

And he went to work. He searched restlessly for the mobster that destroyed a kids life, he spend his time in the Cave, not eating, seldomly sleeping, doing what Batman did best: Being a detective and searching for clues. 

After he found the first little tidbit of information, many pieces started falling together. Maybe not enough to convict Zucco yet, but definitely enough to start looking for a new family for Richard.

It broke his heart but he just knew that he wasn’t the father the boy deserves. Heck, he didn’t even want to be a father. And the boy didn’t want a new dad either. Bruce was just a lost 24 year old with a disapproving butler and a 9 year old kid staring at him with fearful eyes.

Batman was someone people feared, Brucie Wayne was someone people laughed at, and no one knew who Bruce was. Least of all he himself. That left no space for the trauma of a child. 

Richard had stayed at Wayne Manor for two months when Bruce finally found a foster family that survived all the background and security checks Batman put them through. Problem was the free spot they had only lasted for a week before CPS would send the next best child into their care. Bruce had to make a decision and he made it fast.

He applied Richard John Grayson, currently fostered by Bruce Wayne, for the position, stating that Richard needed a more secure family unit. It wasn’t even a lie. And what if the media would proclaim his brief stint as a foster parent a publicity stunt. He had to do what was best for the child.

Even if Zucco had not yet been arrested, Richard would change homes in just a few days.

The only thing left to do was telling Alfred and… and Richard, of course. 

And he meant to do it, really. But suddenly life decided to become even more hectic. During the breakfast he wanted to tell them, Mr. Fox called about a problem at Wayne Industries, when he returned for an eventful afternoon tea, Vicki Vale had already claimed his seat at the table asking Richard questions. Dinner was interrupted by an Arkham outbreak et cetera, et cetera... 

He only managed to tell Alfred the night before the boy was to be send away. Something in Bruce died when Alfred looked at him, suddenly every year he spent in Gotham visible, and said: 

“You do what you think is best, Master Bruce, but let me tell you that I have seldomly been so disappointed by the actions of a man as great as he is foolish as you are. Maybe none of this would be happening if your elaborate training included the skill to listen. Good night, sir”

With these grave words he left and Bruce knew that he would be eating overcooked steak for quite some time. 

Richard had already gone to bed, so there was no telling him, but Bruce decided to stay in too. He needed the sleep and Gotham would survive without him for one night.

Sometimes Bruce wondered how different his life would have turned out if he had gone out that night. If he had been Batman the one night where Bruce Wayne was needed.

But Bruce Wayne was there when in the middle of the night slight footsteps could be heard nearing the master bedroom. For a moment Bruce was afraid. Burglars? Ninjas? Assassins? But then he realized that it was the sound of children’s feet. 

His door didn’t open, even when Richard reached his room. 

Suddenly Bruce remembered all the times he came back to a sleeping little boy in front of his room. He got up. 

When he opened the door Richard was standing in front of him, huge eyes spilling tears. The boy looked surprised to see Bruce, a little bit of fear tainting his gaze.

God, how small the kid was. Bruce could break him with one hand. He was scared that he might actually do it. The Dark Knight created and thrived on fear. A little boy thrived on love and devotion and empathy. Nothing Bruce had to offer.

“So- Sorry. I’m gonna go back to bed… sorry to bother you, Mr, Wayne. It’s not happening again…”

Yeah, Bruce had made sure of that. But before he could tell Richard that, he had to make sure the boy was okay. Okay and not scared of coming to Bruce in the dead of night. But he hadn’t come to him, had he? Normally when Richard came, Bruce was away. There were a thousand possible reasons for Richard to do what he did, and Bruce was probably none of them.

“It’s alright. Really. You can come in, if you want to. My room and my bed are big enough.”

Richard just stared at him. His huge, blue eyes bored into every soft spot Bruce tried to train away. He realized again why he had taken in the boy in in the first place. These eyes had haunted his every waking moment after the disaster at Haly’s. 

The kid nodded. Every step he took into the master bedroom was timid. Bruce couldn’t even really blame him. The room was imposing. Unnecessarily so, but he never got around to changing it.

Trying to be an example for Richard, Bruce climbed onto his own bed. He made sure to leave enough room for the kid, so he didn’t have to interact with Bruce if he didn’t want to. But in that moment the boy surprised him. 

His hesitation seemed to be forgotten. Instead he launched himself onto the king sized mattress. Not close enough to touch but close enough for Bruce to see the tears now freely running down Richard’s cheeks. 

He wanted to hug this tiny little child until it knew no harm in the world. But he didn’t. It wasn’t his place.

“It’s alright, Richard. Cry as long as you need to, stay as long as you need to”

What a lie. But it got the child to look up. And speak:

“Dick”

He had a strong accent and for a moment Bruce thought he had misunderstood but then Richard clarified:

“My name. It’s Dick. That’s what my parents called me”

And with a start Bruce realized that he lived with this kid for two months and hadn’t known his preferred name. Fuck. So, he made the right choice after all.

“Oh, alright then, Dick. Can you call me Bruce instead of Mr. Wayne? You know one name for the other. An exchange of sorts”

He made his voice as soft as it would possibly go. 

“Okay, Mr…. Bruce.”

They fell silent after all. Bruce pretended to be busy with something, hoping the kid would fall asleep. But Dick just stared at everything in the room. Even though his cheeks were still wet, pure curiosity shone out of his eyes. Finally his eyes settled on Bruce again:

“You are not as scary as you look”

That made him smile. Just a few words and this child was on its best way of taking hold of Bruce’s cold heart. 

“Wow, I think you are the first person to ever say this to me besides maybe Alfred”

“Then all these other people are idiots. You are just… big and not really there, but not scary. That man at the circus was scary. You are away way too much to be scary”

Bruce didn’t deserve this child. Each word out of Dick’s mouth made his decisions so much harder but so much more logical. This bright and traumatized kid tried to make him feel better, even though Bruce had done nothing for him in regards of his emotional well-being. He had promised the kid someone who understood and instead he had given Dick what Bruce had wanted as an equally but deluded child. But he had forgotten that most children weren’t Bruce Wayne. Some children are Dick Grayson instead.

“The man at the circus?”

“Yes. There was this guy who talked to Mr. Haly about money, bur Mr. Haly said no. And then he said that an accident was gonna happen. And it was clear that that accident wasn’t going to be an accident. You understand? I knew something was gonna happen. And I did nothing. That was scary too. Not as scary as watching them fall… but scary.”

Tears, oh, so many tears. This time Bruce didn’t hold back when the urge to hug the child returned. Instead he pressed the small body against his chest, cautious to not crush the boy. Sobs racked through Dick, leaving him clinging to Bruce’s pajamas. 

“Sh… I bet it was scary. But it’s not your fault. Is that the reason you cry and come here almost every night?”

The boy nodded against Bruce’s chest. His answer was a whisper that had Bruce straining to understand it:

“In my dream it’s really my fault. I cut the lines. And then I’m alone. The kids at the Juvie said it was my fault. That people like me just kill their parents. What if they’re right? I had to make sure you’re still alive. But you’re away so much… I tried staying up for you but it never works—”

A burning anger seared his veins. These children had dared to lay hand on his kid! Had dared to tell him racist bullshit just to further their own goals! But also fury on himself. This poor child had searched for him, believing himself to bring death, just to make sure Bruce was still alive. 

Why hadn’t he started listening sooner? 

Alfred had been right. But what else was new. No, Bruce had to right a few wrongs on his own now.

“I will tell you again and again and again - as often as you need to hear it - that it wasn’t your fault. You are just a kid. And that means that it’s the adults fault when they fuck- fudge up, alright? And these kids were even more wrong: Everything about you, and your people, and your culture is beautiful and just the way it should be. You have done nothing wrong, okay?”

The big blue eyes stared right through his soul. Batman was ready for every judgement they seemed entitled to cast.

“Okay”

And then Dick was hugging him again. Something inside Bruce was getting all gooey. His heart broke yet again just thinking about the coming day.

“Dick, I have to tell you something”

“Yeah”

“I… I found you a new foster family. A real nice one. They have two other kids your age, a dog, a garden, ice cream on Sundays… Stable love and support I haven’t been giving you…”

With each word the grasp Dick had on him loosened, until the boy was leaning away from Bruce, not looking at him. New tears joined his already tear-stained cheeks but this time Bruce had caused them. How could he explain to a nine year old that this was for his best?

“Is it because you hate me?”

“No! None of this is your fault. It is mine. I am not ready to raise you. I’m too young. To inexperienced. Too-”

“Is it because your Batman?”

“WHAT?”

In an instant Dick had jumped to the other side of the bed, ready to run should the need arise. Bruce had scared him. Without his consent his Batman voice had just made an appearance. But his brain couldn’t comprehend. Had that little kid just spilled the worlds best kept secret?

Dick was staring at him, fear back in his eyes. Bruce had to do some damage control.

“Sorry, chum. You just surprised me there. What do you mean with that?”

“I… I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, but… that’s where you go every night, isn’t it? To the Batcave, with the Batmobile, and the Bat-Butler and… and that’s where you’re fighting crime, right?”

He sounded so earnest. Bruce didn’t have it in him to gaslight the kid. No, Dick deserved the truth. 

“Yes. Though I only call it the Cave with it’s cars and Alfred. I think he would be quite miffed if I referred to him as the Bat-Butler”

Dick had to stifle a laugh. That was until he remembered the words Bruce had uttered only moments before. Bruce could see the instant Dick realized what he had said on his face. 

“Are you sending me away because I know too much? I can keep silent! I promise! Please don’t make me go away again…”

“But don’t you want someone who can care for you? Someone who spends time with you? Hugs you? Someone who is not a 24 year old out of his depth?”

He was lost. How did you explain something like this to a child? Dick was shaking his head, dark hair falling in front of his eyes. He looked so young, so sad, so determined.

“No. You just have to hug me more. Because you give pretty good hugs. And we can spend time together. I just need to go out with you at night and already we spend more time together. It’s really easy, I swear!”

Now Bruce’s eyes were burning. With a swift motion he pulled the kid close again. He couldn’t even begin to understand what he was feeling. The only thing he knew was that Dick Grayson was one hell of a kid. A kid that claimed a big chunk of his heart.

“Okay… okay. I’ll try. I’ll do my best. But as soon as you think I’m messing up, tell me and I’ll find a better place for you, okay? And you are not going out at night. What do you think I am? A complete moron?”

Bruce was crying. His words became a ramble, something so unlike himself he didn’t even know how to react. When was the last time he cried? It had been way too long. Maybe it was time to start again.

Maybe it was time for him to start letting his feelings back inside.

Maybe it was time to start loving this kid in earnest.

Maybe it was time for him to be saved by Dick Grayson.

Maybe this would be the start of something great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Robin proceeded to show up on the streets like two months later.


	15. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school counselor of Gotham Academy is getting suspicious of Dick Grayson. And why wouldn't she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
Half of October is done and I am still going strong (I have to repeat that so often because the person most surprised by this, is me) ^^  
And I love you all soooooooo much! The comments and the Kudos make it so worth it to write each chapter! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! <3  
If ya wanna chat, you can find me on my [Tumblr](https://sassydefendorflower.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Warnings: Abuse Mention, Outsider POV

If you had asked Mary on Sunday what she thought of the Grayson kid, she would have told you something about how rich kids in a private school all tend to look the same. In other words: She would have no discernible opinion.

But today was no longer Sunday. Today was Monday and the sophomores had PE in first period. Today David Petersen stood in front of her, the school counselor Dr. Mary Richardson, and told her about Richard Grayson.

About how the boy usually used a booth before and after PE to change. How today some other boys had stolen his clothes. How he had left the booth to chase them. How everyone had seen the scars that littered the boys body. 

Today was Monday and Mary was concerned. 

She had thanked David and send him away. What more could he do? What could she do?

Despite her often irritated behavior, Mary did honestly care for the children at this school. Very few people became counselors at prestigious schools like Gotham Academy without having a real passion for the job. But a fifty hour week for that pay? That would grate on anybodies nerves. 

But that was not the problem right now. The problem was Richard Grayson, only ward of the infamous billionaire Bruce Wayne. Petersen had talked about scars, big and small. Fresh and new. 

Abuse was nothing new for Mary. Many of the rich fucks who send their kids to schools like this thought that money would let them get away with anything. It hurt her how often they were right.

But abuse so severe as to leave marks that noticeable on a body? No court in the world would dismiss that. 

She took a deep breath. There was no other option: She had to talk to the boy. 

“Attention! Richard Grayson, please make your way to Mrs. Richardsons office as soon as possible.”

She had informed the director and he had agreed. They needed to talk to Richard before any decisions were made. The boy deserved that much. 

(On another note: It still grated her, how they called her “Mrs” instead of Dr)

And she was apparently the safest choice for that. Of course she was. She was the counselor no matter how much she didn’t want to have this conversation. 

What appeared to be only moments later, but was probably at least a few minutes, a timid knock sounded on her door. 

“Come in!”

Richard Grayson stood in her door. The 15-year old was a bit small for his age, his uniform in disarray, his cheeks flushed either from running to her office or from embarrassment upon being called via the intercom. 

All in all he looked like a typical, if slightly scrawny, teenager. This was going to be a nightmare. 

“Hey, Dr. Richardson! You wanted to see me?”

He sounded upbeat, she noticed. A farce to hide his nervousness?

“Ah, yes, Richard, I wanted to talk to you. Close the door behind you and sit down, if you will”

There was only a slight moment of hesitation before the boy complied. Mary took note of it anyway. 

“Someone told me about the situation this morning in PE and-”

“I am not getting bullied! They only meant it as a joke! There is no need to get involved. Or to get anyone else involved!”

The boy had interrupted her with a slightly crazed tone in his voice. All the cheerfulness of the moments prior had vanished. She did not let it faze her. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. Her voice was calm and soothing when she spoke again:

“Alright, we will not do anything. For now. But would you like us to call your father regarding the situation?”

Maybe this was a bitch move. Something no responsible counselor should do. But if she wanted to go up against one of the most powerful men of America? Then she needed evidence. Evidence no one could dismiss. 

She tried really hard not to feel too bad about the recorder under her desk.

“He’s not my father! Bruce is my legal guardian… and no you don’t have to call him. Wouldn’t want for him to miss one of his board meetings!”

There was definite resentment in the boys voice. The way he distanced himself by calling his guardian by his first name? The way he instantly reacted to her calling him his father? She could work with this. 

“Are these board meetings that are often a point of conflict between the two of you?”

She already knew that she had gone too fast the moment these words left her mouth. His eyes got comically large before an almost visible wall slipped into place. 

“What do you mean with that?”

“Richard, let me be real with you for a minute…”

She could see how nervous he was. But there was also something else, something calculated. She had to treat carefully. 

“The boy that came to me regarding PE? He didn’t come to tell me about bullying. He came to tell me about the worrying amount of scars on your body”

Richard had gone stone still. Not a muscle quivered. Not a lock of hair decided to fall out of place. Nothing. Nada. The boy was completely rigid. It was actually a bit scary. 

“Scars?”

His tone spoke of a lack of understanding, Mary couldn’t comprehend. 

“Yes, scars. He told me, that they were covering almost the entirety of your upper body. He wasn’t sure about the rest of you since you still wore your slacks. He was concerned and told me. And now I want to make sure that everything is alright”

“Who told you? Jonny? No… Razid? No. Dave? Yes… fucking David Petersen…”

He did little more than whisper but Mary could still hear him. But she waited. Her words would only aggravate him at this point. He still needed time before she could continue their talk. 

He fell silent, too, after a moment. Just looking at her with eyes filled with such desperate panic that she had to swallow. Damn, did this boy have blue eyes. 

“What now? What do you want me to say? To do?”

So broken. No one should sound so tired at the age of fifteen. Heck, no one should sound so tired, period. 

“I don’t want you to do anything you are not comfortable with. What I want to do is help you. We take cases like this very serious at this school and everyone involved wants what is best for you. But you need to want it too”

She tried to make her voice as sincere as possible. But of course in cases like this the smallest things could make or break it. 

“Who are we?”

“Me, the director, your worried classmates, everyone who cares about you, Richard”

“Dick”

“What?”

“Everyone calls me Dick. It kind of weirds me out when you call me Richard the whole time. Sorry…”

“No problem… Dick”

There was no way she could stop her voice from pausing before calling him by his nickname. Yet she took it as a sign of trust. An olive branch in her favor.

“Would you be comfortable showing someone your upper body? A medical professional of some sort?”

The boy grew still once more. There was something calculating in his gaze. So much was clear this time. 

What Richard must have lived through, Mary couldn’t even begin to imagine. Too much for a kid his age, so much was clear. She could read it in his eyes. How tired they were. How restless he was - which made his rigid pose all the more daunting. This boy needed help and she would do anything to provide it.

“Who is the current nurse?”

A logical question. Something a boy in his situation would ask. He wanted their help. He really did. Thank god.

“Dr. Leslie Thompkins agreed to fill in this semester while Dr. Nelson takes her maternity leave”

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again the only thing she could see was determination.

“Okay. Take me to her”

She did.

It was late afternoon when she returned to her office. She still couldn’t believe it. Dr. Thompkins report barely mentioned any scar tissue, only things easily explained by riding accidents and the exploits of an eager boy. 

Something was fishy, Mary was sure of it.

Her work day had ended two hours ago but on her way home she had remembered the recorder. While Richard had never outright said that he was abused, his lack of denial and the clearly voiced nervousness and discomfort were still pliable evidence.

But even half an hour of searching through her office could not produce the one thing she was searching for: Her recorder. 

Something really weird was going on.

Especially when she returned the next day only to find her recorder in its usual place on her desk. Completely whole. Only missing the recorded session with one Richard Grayson.

Something fishy was going on. And Mary was going to get to the bottom of it.


	16. Pinned Down (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick had stayed in to prevent injury. It didn't work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!   
Thank you all so much for all the love you send my way! I think I am the happiest writer out there... <3  
My Girlfriend wants me to tell you, that while most of the medical stuff in this fanfic is fairly well researched the things that happen in this chapter and the next aren't. But I really hope you don't get all your medical knowledge form fanfic... xD
> 
> Warnings: Medical Inaccuracies, Major Character Injury

Sometimes it took only one shot to tear it all down. 

Sometimes the things that left you realing were so simple you hadn’t even thought of them. 

It began with a pinprick on Dick’s ankle, a tiny spike of discomfort that had already vanished when Dick looked down and saw nothing there to disturb the peace. When he looked up again the line in front of the counter of the bakery had moved on. He didn't spend another thought on it.

It continued with a weird sensation in his legs throughout the day. Weird enough for him to stay in, when the others decided to go on patrol. It was a Saturday and they had spend the day at the Manor watching movies and annoying Bruce. The whole family had been there. Now it was only Alfred and him.

It got stronger the more the night progressed. And by the time midnight rolled around, Dick was ready to ask Alfred for some pain killers just to catch some sleep.

And that was the mistake. 

Whatever was in his bloodstream didn’t mix well with the drugs Alfred gave him.

Sweat started to tickle down his spine, sending shivers through his body. And finally Dick realized that something worse was going on than just a case of severe joint pain.

He had to get to Alfred. Had to tell him that they needed to run some tests. But since Alfred had given him the drugs, Dick had lain back down on his bed. Alfred had since also gone to his room. Getting up felt like a challenge Dick wasn’t sure he could take on. He tried it anyway.

With an herculean effort, Dick heaved his body in a sitting position. His arms shook from the exertion. When had his body started to feel so frail? How fast was the unknown agent moving?

Yelling for Alfred was probably the safer idea. Dick just hoped that Alfie heard him in his quarters. 

“Alfred! Al-”

Coughs interrupted Dick’s sorry excuse for a call. His voice denied him the ability to yell for help. So, standing up it was. 

His muscles twitched as he forced them into staying upright. The room was spinning around him. Round and round and round…

But Dick forced himself to move forward. He needed to get help. Something was seriously wrong and he had no idea what the fuck was going on. After three agonizing steps he finally reached the door to his room. His breath escaped him in short gasps. 

It felt as if he had just competed in the Olympics or taken on Killer Croc by himself. Or both at the same time. His vision swam and the sooner they found a solution to this particular problem, the better. 

Pushing open the door was too much for his body though. The slight change to his center of gravity the motion brought with it, made his knees give out. It was neither graceful nor overly dramatic: He just fell. 

The thump of his head hitting the floor reverberated in his skull. Dick was dazed when he looked at the ceiling. He wasn’t really comprehending what just happened. How completely his body had just decided to cancel all collaboration.

But all his thoughts were second to the pain that seared his muscles. They were twitching and trembling. His throat tried to close up, his nose flaring but without any relief. 

He was having a seizure. 

With his vision shrinking into a pinprick hole of swirling color, Dick realized that he would die like this if Alfred didn’t find him soon.

What a crazy thought that was. Dying, alone on the floor of his childhood bedroom in Wayne Manor. He would have bet that his death would happen on the streets. That he would fight to live and fail. That he would safe the world and give his life. 

Not like this. Not convulsing and alone. Not pissing himself because his muscles contracted against his will. Not fighting for air while nobody was fighting for him. 

But maybe he should be grateful for that. Maybe it was a alleviation that Damian didn’t have to see his big brother die so un-heroically. Maybe it was a relief for Bruce to lose a son to circumstance instead of the mission. 

Maybe…

Dick was suffocating. The air was no longer being processed by his lungs. His heartbeat was similarly irregular. Somewhere between his panic and his swirling thoughts his eyes had closed. The only peaceful thing about him.

The tremors were getting weaker as his body slowly lost the organs powering it. 

It felt like a dream when Dick heard footsteps over the thumping of his heart.

Footsteps and a startled voice:

“Master Dick? Oh no. Master Dick! Can you look at me? No? Alright”

There were hands on him now, taking his pulse, heaving him into the stable lateral position. Dick was too tired to react to it.

“Dr. Leslie? I require immediate assist at the Manor. Upstairs. In the right wing.”

Words starting to flow over him. Letting go would be so much easier. Hadn’t he hold onto enough things in his life?

“Master Dick, I’ll be right back. Please wait for me”

What was a little longer? Especially when breathing just got a bit easier. If only his heart shared the same belief. The world started to move away… away—

“This is going to hurt, I wager. Please pardon me”

Another pinprick. And searing pain! In seconds his heart beat again, his lungs struggled for air, and his body started convulsing again.

His eyes flew open, searching for something, someone, and finding Alfred. He opened his mouth to say something, to make room for the panic cursing through his veins but no sound came out. 

Every muscle in his body contracted again making thinking hard, making existing so much harder. Dick just wanted it to stop. 

Footsteps appeared down the hallway. Dick wanted to look but his body wasn’t his anymore, being pinned down by Alfred and whatever was killing him.

Only second later too many people to comprehend filled his vision. Leslie was here, yelling orders, Bruce was pushing Dick’s body back on the floor when his spine wanted to arch itself into the sky on its search for air. For relief.

They lifted him onto a stretcher, moving him… somewhere. All these voices, all these faces were too much.

He didn’t fight when the darkness claimed him this time. At least it was silent down there. At least there was no pain.

“We’re losing him! Ready the defibrillator!”

“Dick, you gotta fight, okay? You gotta stay strong. For me. For Damian. For us” 

But Dick was just so tired.


	17. "Stay with me!" (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick dying was not the plan Batman had for this Saturday night and he would do anything to keep it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!!  
Chapter 17 and the fanfic gods have blessed me with the prompt "Stay with me"!  
Thank you all so unbelievably much! Each and every comment and kudo makes my day so much brighter! <333  
And again my girlfriend makes sure that you guys know that anything medical in this story is not accurate! 
> 
> Warning: Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies

It was the middle of a normal Saturday night patrol when Batman’s comm unit clicked with an incoming message from Penny-One:

“Batman, there is an emergency at the HQ. Nightwing is down. Status: Critical. The Doctor has already been called but your assistance is needed”

The tone that signaled the end of the message left Batman breathless. Nightwing wasn’t out with them tonight due to joint pain that had grated him the entire day. How had his son gone from hurting joints to almost dying?

Alfred’s voice might have sounded level and calm but Bruce had spend his life with the man and knew when Alfred was only moments away from panic. 

After the first second he took to comprehend the message, Batman put everything into motion. He grappled back to his car on the fastest route possible and informed the rest of the kids that he was heading back in.

He didn’t tell them the reason why, only alluding to Alfred requesting his presence. Someone needed to watch over Gotham while he watched over his son. And all of his kids worked better if they weren’t worrying over one of their own. 

Even though he knew it was the right choice, it still hurt to hide the truth form them. But he was Batman and Batman would always do what was necessary. 

He made it back to the Batcave in record time, only shedding the most impractical parts of his costume. And still, he was Bruce Wayne when he left the Cave only to meet Dr. Leslie on the stairs to the upper floor. She send a curt nod in his direction before hurrying along. Two paramedics were close behind her with a stretcher between them. 

Bruce was quick to follow her. 

The scene that greeted him when they reached Dick’s room would haunt him forever: Alfred kneeling over a convulsing Dick, making sure the boy didn’t hurt himself any worse, the roaming, unseeing eyes of his son, stopping on Bruce’s face only to wander again without recognition, the pained whine that escaped Dick’s clenched yaw, the stench of functions lost.

His son was dying in front of his eyes and Bruce could do nothing about it.

That was until Leslie motioned for him to come closer, to take over from Alfred in restraining Dick. It was a smart move on her part, making sure someone who could handle the uncontrolled power of a Bat was the one keeping Nightwing in place. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Up close Bruce could see the tear marks on Dick’s cheeks, the blood in the corner of his mouth, where he bit his lip, the sweat plastering his hair across his forehead. It was harder than anticipated, keeping him down. His muscles didn’t care about the limits of the human body. His muscles only cared about creating pain.

When Leslie started to take his vitals, Bruce eased up, if only a little. They were bad, but they weren’t hopeless. 

The paramedics readied the stretcher and when they got closer, Bruce backed off to let them do their job. Some part hoped that they wouldn’t look too closely, that they wouldn’t see Bruce Wayne wearing half of the Batsuit, but the larger part of him was focused on his son’s eyes slowly fluttering closed.

Even without the medical training he possessed, he would have known that that was probably a bad sign.

But before anything else could happen, they started moving down the hallway towards the elevator Alfred had insisted on installing (”I am not as young as I once was, Master Bruce, and you aren’t getting any younger either”). He was more than grateful for it now. Still, he used the stairs to get to the ground floor, fully aware that there wasn’t enough room for him in the tight space with his son.

Alfred was only steps behind Bruce when they heard “We’re losing him! Ready the defibrillator!” and saw one of the paramedics rush past them out of the foyer to the ambulance.

No.

It took only a few strides to come next to his son, to hold the still hand, while running with Dr. Leslie and the other EMT.

His voice shook only slightly, when he uttered words of encouragement:

“Dick, you gotta fight, okay? You gotta stay strong. For me. For Damian. For us.”

They reached the ambulance. With one swift motion the stretcher was behind the doors of the emergency vehicle. The second paramedic went in after his son. When Bruce motioned to do the same, a hand stopped him. A hand belonging to Dr. Leslie:

“No, Bruce. If you go in there, you will only be in the way of the professionals. Let us do our work. As soon as we stabilize him, you’re allowed back inside. Okay?”

He could only nod. And who would blame him? Even while everything inside him screamed to tear that door open, to hold his son’s hand, to plead with him to stay alive, he knew that staying outside was the only logical option.

So he did. He stood next to Alfred whose eyes shone bright with unshed tears and waited for a verdict on his son’s life. 

“Sir?”

“Yes, Alfred”

“Have you informed the others?”

“I was hoping you would do that once I was on the way to the hospital with… Dick”

“Yes, of course, sir”

They fell silent again. A stifling silence that made it harder and harder to breath with each second the door in front of them wouldn’t move. Each time they heard muffled yelling inside the ambulance and couldn’t do anything. With each time…

The door finally opened and out came Dr. Leslie. She looked worse for wear but a relieved glint shone in her eyes. 

“Bruce? Alfred? We could stabilize him for now, but we need to do some intensive testing on his blood work as soon as we reach the hospital. He isn’t out of the woods yet. We have no clue why or what is happening.”

Her words hurt and healed at the same time. His son hadn’t died while Bruce was uselessly standing outside but he hadn’t survived just yet either. 

This time when Bruce neared the ambulance doors Leslie moved out of the way. It was tiny inside and in the center of the back portion of the vehicle was his son with an IV connected to his arm, a oxygen mask on his face, and burn marks on his chest. The paramedic pushed him onto a seat in a corner next to the stretcher and already they were moving.

Bruce was pretty sure Leslie and the paramedics were talking but he couldn’t understand a word. His whole focus was directed on the still form of his son. On murmuring “Stay with me! Stay with me! Stay with me!” over and over again. 

The arrival and what came after was a blur. 

But suddenly he was sitting in the waiting room of the ICU still in half a Batman costume. It was then that Alfred appeared by his side with a duffel bag in his hands.

“You might need this, Sir. A more appropriate set of clothes for the confines of a hospital”

“I can’t-”

His eyes strayed to the door that held his son’s future. For the second time this night, his sons life was in the hands of others. 

“I will wait here, Master Bruce. And I shall inform you as soon as any news reaches me”

“The kids?”

“Are informed as well. Master Tim and Miss Cass are changing at home before driving here. Master Jason and Master Damian decided to take the car directly and should arrive shortly. I will make sure that they won’t disturb any fellow residents.”

With that Bruce vanished into one of the bathroom stalls only to return minuted later in slacks and a sweatshirt. The Batsuit was folded neatly in the duffel bag Alfred had provided. 

Two of his sons had made their way to the waiting room in front of the ICU. Both Damian and Jason looked disgruntled, their cloths wrinkled and out of fashion as they wore the emergency clothing stored in most of their cars. 

Bruce was too tired to deal with his sons, too tired to explain them his reasoning, too tired to avert one crisis while another hang over their heads. But both Jason and Damian surprised him. Their eyes were angry but they didn’t say anything. 

Alfred must have had a word with them. Or they suddenly developed common sense. Probably Alfred.

With a sigh Bruce sat between them, taking up his earlier position of staring at the door. It was Damian’s tiny voice that broke through to him:

“Is Richard going to be alright?”

“I don’t know, kiddo, I don’t know”

And suddenly Bruce was reminded that Damian was only twelve, that Dick had basically raised the kid long before Bruce started to, and Bruce did something he did far too rarely: He pulled his son into a hug.

He could feel Jason staring and once again he wished their story had gone differently, once again he wished he could pull Jason into this hug as well. But before he could do anything he might regret, a doctor left the ICU and came towards them:

“Family of Richard Grayson?”

“Hn… Yes. I am his father, these are his siblings and the… their grandfather”

Introducing Alfred as the family butler felt wrong, so he didn’t. But he did refrain from looking at Alfred’s face to see the reaction. Whatever it was, it was not Bruce’s place to know.

“Can you follow me somewhere more private or…?”

The doctor was young, not from Gotham, and certainly not familiar with Bruce Wayne. It was refreshing.

“No, my family can hear everything as well”

He could see her hesitating before straightening up. Bruce needed her to tell all of them. Whatever news were to leave her mouth, Bruce couldn’t bear them alone.

“If you say so. We had to revive Richard once more since his arrival in the ER, but after his vitals stabilized, we were able to get some blood work done. The information we’d gotten from Dr. Thompkins told us that Richard had taken a low dosage of paracetamol half an hour before being found seizing and going into cardiac arrest. The blood work told us that he had been ingested a slow acting but strong paralytic earlier that day that - in combination with the paracetamol - created a severe allergic reaction.”

That was a lot to take in. Bruce tried to swallow but his throat had gone dry. Where had the paralytic come from? The doctor was looking at him and with a slight nod he motioned for her to continue:

“We have since then done everything to stabilize him further, but the special composition of the paralytic and it’s reaction to the pain medicament makes it impossible to safely ingest further medicine. We started an IV with a saline solution to flush his body and we try to counteract the effects of the drugs, but it is up to him if he survives the night and the following day.”

So, Richard wasn’t out of the woods yet. Wouldn’t be it for another 24 hours. This was what hell felt like. 

“Can we see him now?”

“One at a time”

Bruce looked at his sons and they looked at him. It was Jason who spoke first. And his words surprised Bruce:

“You can go in first, old man. We wait out here for the others. Make sure you tell him that the rest of us are here too.”

Damian, still pressed against him, nodded. 

“Yes, Father. You can see Richard first. I have to make myself presentable before I can step in front of him.”

Bruce knew he didn’t have to tell his son that Dick wouldn’t be awake when he visited him. He knew that Damian was asking for some time to compose himself. He could give him that. He could do that much when he had failed him so often.

When his eyes wandered to Alfred, the old man had already started to stand up and head to the coffee machine in the corner of the room:

“Don’t keep Master Dick waiting any longer.”

And Bruce didn’t. He went with the doctor, who looked at him for a long time before saying:

“You’re that billionaire, aren’t you?”

“Yes”

“Hm… I didn’t want to say it in front of the kids, but the paracetamol is probably the only reason your son is still alive. The paralytic would have killed him in his sleep without anyone noticing. Now, he has at least a chance”

When he didn’t answer, she opened the door in front of him to the secluded room his boy was lying in. 

There were so many machines. One to measure his blood pressure and pulse, one for the oxygen levels in his blood, one to... Everything was somehow connected to something else. It was a truly scary sight. Especially with Dick pale and drawn between them. His eyes were sunken in their sockets, bruising underneath them that spoke of restless sleep and pain. 

His son looked sick. Unbelievably sick. 

He had a chance now. That was what she had said. A chance. Looking at his son lying still in the ICU reminded him more of her other words, of those spoken in the waiting room area. When she told them that Dick could die anytime in the next 24 hours. Bruce hadn’t wanted to believe her but now he could see it. His son was hanging on only by the barest of threats. 

Bruce tried to swallow back his dread. It wasn't really working. No father should ever be in this situation and he had way too often. But no matter which of his children suffered, it hurt every time. And it never got any easier. But suffering wasn't supposed to get easier. And sitting by the bedside of a dying child was prone to be one of the highest forms of suffering.

It costed him all his might to take Dick’s limp hand into his own. It was cold and clammy. Nothing at all like the warm hand of the acrobat Dick was when he was awake. Nothing at all full of life. It scared him.

Their family sat outside, Tim and Cass had probably arrived at this point. Bruce wouldn’t be surprised to see Steph and Barbara out there too. All of them were gathered in a hospital waiting room by their love and concern for Dick. The Justice League had probably been called by now. All over the world heroes would be notified that one of their own, that Nightwing, had fallen. All over the world heroes would include Nightwing in their prayers and thoughts. 

But Bruce was the only one holding Dick’s hand in this moment. Bruce was the only one in this tiny hospital room with his son.

Bruce was the one whispering, pleading in a coarse voice with the still form of his child:

“Stay with me! Please, stay with me. I need you. They need you.

Stay with me.”

Bruce was the one holding on to hope. Bruce was the one crying tears of desperation, having these tears fall onto the pale skin of Dick's hand.

Bruce was the one caressing his son's cheeks, telling him that everything would be alright. Because what else had be left? 


	18. Muffled Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight was supposed to be a brother bonding event, not the nightmare it turned out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! ^^  
Day 18! And I am still going strong!   
That is probably thanks to all of your lovely comments and kudos! Thank you so, so much! <3
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Injury, Panic Attacks

Tonight was supposed to be a brother bonding event, not the nightmare it turned out to be. 

Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin and Robin had, after Dick pleaded with them for quite some time, agreed to work together on a drug bust. 

The case was relatively simple and nothing new but Dick needed the manpower to pull it off. Black Mask was getting a shipment of stolen goods (presumably drugs, too) and Roman knew that he had to count on the Bats being there.

Which meant one Bat would be totally outmatched. Two Bats would be expected. Three Bats would be managed. But four Bats? Four Bats could take Black Mask down. Or at least his operation of the night.

And because it was Gotham and there was nothing Gotham loved more than her theatrics, the exchange had to happen in a drafty warehouse by the docks. Which meant Nightwing and his brothers had roof access. 

“Which side should we move in from?”

“The blueprints suggest that the east side windows over the rafters grant the easiest access, Red.”

“Yeah, didn’t you read the briefing, Imbecile?”

“Robin! Not now!”

“But him being a gremlin to me is okay any other time, Nightwing?”

“Wow, digging yourself deeper, N”

“Not helping, Hood, not helping”

“Who are you calling a gremlin?!”

“The gremlin, Gremlin!”

Dick loved his brothers. He just had to remind himself sometimes that murder was not the Bat-way. After a while he just tuned out the bickering over the comms. Especially since Jason had taken it upon himself to get involved in the argument between Damian and Tim, too.

Instead he focused on the warehouse in front of him. It was exceptionally big and weirdly tall for a building in this part of town. Most of the other warehouses were too old to support this kind of structure. But it didn’t surprise Dick to find Black Mask using this one specifically. Roman Sionis had a flair for the dramatics all Gotham Rogues shared. Just because he choose classier locations than the Joker or Scarecrow didn’t mean that they weren’t just as deliberately chosen.

From his vantage point, the streets around the building looked vacated but Dick knew that to be false. Black Masks men were just really good at hiding. 

Their intel placed the exchange around midnight and they had to hurry up if they wanted to be in position by the time Black Masks mysterious trading partner showed up. Which meant it was time to brave the comms again. 

“Hey. We’re moving in. Copy?”

“Aye aye, Big Bird”

“-tt-, obviously.”

“Copy, N”

From the corner of his eye Nightwing could see three shadowy figures darting across the rooftops next to the one Nightwing had found shelter on. They were completely silent when they moved across the chasm between the buildings, scaled the other wall, and reached the roof of the warehouse they were targeting tonight.

When he knew that all his brothers were looking at him, Nightwing motioned to the east side and like a well oiled machine, all of them started moving again.

This was the part Nightwing had really looked forward upon. The powerful feeling of moving like one. Of them behaving and acting like the family they were, like the heroes they were. 

It made him all warm and fuzzy inside. 

Getting inside was relatively easy. The window they used as their designated entrance was almost 40ft in the air and most people didn’t secure their windows so high up. Especially when the only thing so high up in the building were support beams and maintenance foot walks. So, it was rather easy to dismantle the simple lock and get inside.

They quickly dispersed in different shadowy corners across the warehouse rafters. Surprisingly Jason was the one who stayed closest to Dick. But once they were all in position even Dick had trouble spotting them. 'Conceal like a Bat' was a saying in Gotham for a reason. 

(And a Make-Up company had once used it as a marketing gig. Dick and his siblings found it hilarious, while Bruce had swiftly found a reason to get it banned)

“Everyone in position?”

“Yep”

“‘Course”

“Without a doubt”

“Why can none of you answer like a normal person. Are you the same on team up missions with B?”

Dick knew the answer of course. Because he was just as annoying as them when it came to big family missions. And still it surprised him just how coordinated they sounded when all three of them answered simultaneously:

“You can bet your ass on it”

Especially since he would have never guessed to hear Damian of all people utter such a sentence. 

“Yeah, yeah. I am so proud of you. And now we’re all going to be nice little Bats and focus on stopping Black Mask’s operation”

People always told Dick that they were shocked how different he was when it was just them versus when he was leading a team they were on. But Dick didn’t understand what all the fuzz was about. Of course he would be less fun and games when the lives of others sat on his shoulders. He was the happy bat not the irresponsible one. 

And with that the waiting began. That was always the worst part and it probably would always be the worst. But Batman had been right when he taught them all the importance of silence. 

And like every thing Batman taught them, it payed off.

Ten minutes after Nightwing and his brothers had taken their place in the rafters, Black Mask appeared, positioning his men, the money for the exchange, and himself strategically on the warehouse floor. You had to agree on one thing: Roman Sionis was clever. 

Nothing of this setup spoke of anything else besides a standard drug exchange but that changed when Black Mask’s trading partner appeared: Captain Boomerang. 

Dick could feel the air leave the room. 

“Red Robin, do not engage until I give the okay. Do you understand me, Red Robin?”

There was a pause. A pause way too long for Dick’s liking but he knew he had to make sure. This operation had just taken a trip south. 

“… copy…”

Tim sounded less sure than Dick was comfortable with but this would be all he could hope for. He didn’t want to know how he would react when during a routine bust Tony Zucco suddenly appeared in front of him. 

The other question was what exactly Boomerang was doing here. The rogue was normally working in Central City and seeing him so far east was concerning. Especially since he wouldn’t sell drugs to Black Mask. No, Boomerang would sell weapons. 

This situation was one giant pile of horse shit.

“Nightwing to Oracle. Do you copy?”

“What do you need, N?”

“The partner Black Mask is meeting with is Captain Boomerang. RR is emotionally compromised and we don’t know the parameters of the exchange. Can you send reinforcements or should we move out?”

“Oh, shit. B is on the other side of the city, BB and BG could be at your location in 20″

“Send them”

“Okay”

“Nightwing Out”

Boomerang and Roman had started talking while Dick informed Oracle. Their conversation seemed to be intense and for a moment Dick dared to hope that the situation would resolve itself. That their deal would fail and they would just go home. But they weren’t so lucky, of course.

“Roman, you promised me money for my sweet, sweet boomerangs and I have yet to see any of it”

“Now, you see, Digger, I want to be sure that I get what I paid for. I brought you some excellent target practice to show me if your product holds up to the standard my operation adheres to”

“Target practice?”

Dick felt shivers run down his spine at the tone of Captain Boomerangs voice. Before he could blink, Digger had a dangerous looking weapon in his hand.

“Yeah, there are a few birds in the rafters. I was wondering if you could get me one”

No. No, no, no, no…

“Retreat! Go! Retreat!”

Dick was already moving when he saw a flash of something blue swish past him and towards Damian. Dick saw it, but Damian didn’t.

There was nothing Dick could do when the boomerang hit Damian in the back, slicing the kevlar open and making Robin stumble. And fall. And fall. And fall.

A scream tore itself from Dick’s throat only to be stopped by a gloved hand. Jason’s hand. Somewhere in the last second, when all of Nightwing’s focus hab been on his little bird, Red Hood had crept up behind him and took hold of him, muffling his scream and keeping Dick from selling them all out.

But Dick wasn’t really processing that. He just heard the dull thumb of Damian hitting the floor. He just saw him fall. And fall. And fall. And fall.

“Nightwing, get it together we have to move!”

“Come on, Big Bird, please!”

But in Dick’s mind there was just static. He was nine and his parents fell in front of him, he was 26 and his little boy fell because of him. He screamed again and again it came only out muffled. 

“Okay. Fuck”

“You make sure that Nightwing doesn’t kill us all. I’m gonna make Boomerang pay”

“No, Red! Fuck. What is wrong with this family?!”

There were sounds all around him. Jason was still holding him, trying to move him, but Dick didn’t want to. He couldn’t leave Damian. He… he… his Little Bird had just fallen. And fallen. And fallen. 

He struggled against the bonds holding him. He had to get to Damian. He tried calling out his name again but something - hands - still stopped his voice from reaching its full potential. His eyes were unseeing. Or seeing to much. A small body. The surprise in Damian’s face when the boomerang hit. The falling. 

Always the falling. Always the fall. 

“If you don’t stop fighting me, I am going to have to subdue you and I would rather not since Baby Bird is currently lying face down between a shitton of bad guys and Replacement decided that now was the perfect opportunity to dish out vengeance and kick-flipped of a rafter in Boomerangs face. We have to survive for ten minutes until the cavalry arrives. Can you do that?”

Dick wasn’t sure. But he nodded anyway. The hand around his midriff fell away, as did the one across his mouth. Slowly, way too cautiously Dick turned around to look at Jason. He didn’t say anything, too sure that everything leaving his mouth would be a cry for Damian.

“Shit, man. I know this is some hard fucked up trauma for you, so I want you to stay here. But I need to make sure Red doesn’t get himself killed. And I have to make sure Baby Bird is okay so you can hug him until you feel better, okay?”

There was no way Dick could have heard this right. Jason wanted to leave him in the rafters? But before he could protest, fighting noises broke through the shell that shock had created in Dick’s mind. 

Jason patted him on the shoulders once more before Red Hood jumped down in the middle of the fighting:

“Hello, Motherfuckers! Red Hood is in the house!”

Dick wanted to follow. He wanted to jump down there, take them all out and cradle Damian against his chest until his heartbeat returned to normal. But only taking a small step forward proved that his body was no longer connected to his brain. Instead he crouched low, making his body less of a target, and stared down, hoping to see something that would ease his panic.

(Falling - Thump - Blood - Falling)

Red Hood reached Damian first. He picked the little bird up and motioned something. The moment Jason made the Okay movement with his hands was the best in Dick’s life. At least Damian had survived. 

Tim was still fighting with Boomerang, with Black Mask moving in the background, not fighting but transferring weapons. Dick wanted to warn his brothers but before he could utter a word over the comms a bullet pierced his costume. A goon had climbed the rafters.

How Dick hated intelligent crooks. 

His body fell backwards - but this time it was Dick himself who muffled his scream. Damian was okay - or was going to be okay - and that was the priority. Nobody needed to spend their time on him if their time was so much better spend on keeping themselves alive. 

Dick fell. And it was so much better than watching someone else fall. 

Dick fell and the world turned black.


	19. Asphyxiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!!!  
We have reached chapter 19! Isn't that crazy???  
All thanks to all your support and love! <3  
And because last chapter created a big demand for a second part look out for chapter 31! It might just be the end for the story you want! ;)
> 
> Warnings: Suffocation

“Batman! Batman, answer me!”

His comm unit buzzed. The voice sounded urgent, young. It sounded like his Robin.

Dick opened his eyes, only to be greeted by complete darkness. There wasn’t even the smallest amount of light left. At least that meant that there was nothing that could aggravate his aching head even more. 

Probably a concussion and the reason why he had no idea where he was. 

He slowly took in his surroundings. His body was still in the Batsuit, even if his utilitybelt was missing. They - whoever they were - had let him keep his gloves and his boots. There were no restrains on any of his limbs and when he tried to move, he quickly realized why: He was in a box barely bigger than him.

“BATMAN! Come in!”

Dick couldn’t help but wince when Damians harsh voice cut through his contemplation. It took only a tiny amount of acrobatics to get his hand close enough to his ear to activate the comm unit. And yet it left him gasping.

“Robin. I can hear you. Are you okay?”

Dick decided to interpret the small sigh that came from Damian's end of the line as a sign of relief. Hey, he had to take his appreciation where he could get it.

“Yes, the buffoons that got a drop on you left me alone after you went down. But they put restrains on me, so I was unable to follow them”

The ‘And you’ went unsaid. The anger at himself was clear as day in Damian's voice. Dick wanted to hug the little guy. It wasn’t his fault that the crooks they had been fighting were clever for once.

“How did you get out of them?”

“'Sup, Big Bird”

“-tt-, Hood here happened to stake out a warehouse in the vicinity of my location, so Oracle send him my way when your signal went out. I would have gotten out myself, of course”

Dick smiled to himself. So, Jason was with Damian. Together the two of them should have no trouble finding him, especially since the goons had let him keep most of his gear. Just as he was about to ask them about his signal and if they were able to track him, he heard something else.

A thump over his head. It sounded suspiciously like the echo of earth hitting earth. A very scary thought came Dick: What if he didn’t just lie in a normal box. What if it was the scary kind of box. 

It was hard to but Dick tried to use the limited space to hit the lid over him. It wouldn’t budge. The sound of him hitting the wood was muffled. There was not enough air for it to reverberate. 

“Well, fuck…”

His exclamation had successfully shut his brothers up, who only moments earlier squabbled over the comm lines in a way Dick learned to ignore like white noise. For a moment at least. 

“Hey, there are young ears here!”

Dick knew Jason was teasing him but now was really not the time for it. Not that any of his brothers knew that yet. And Jason would not take that particular information well. Neither would Damien.

“I have heard worse, you daft idiot! Gr- Batman, tell him to stop bothering me!”

“Guys! This is really not the time: You need to find me. Fast. I think they are currently burying me. Alive. In a box I am unable to open”

That shut them up for good. 

There were ten whole second where no sound came over the comm link and all Dick could hear was his own elevated pulse. That were fucking long ten seconds.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

It was obviously Jason Dick heard spiraling. He knew that telling them what was happening was going to trigger Jason but there had been no other way. Now he kind of wished he hadn’t done it though. His little bro didn’t deserve that kind of stress. 

“Get it together, Hood! You can have your pathetic little panic attack after we safe Batman. Until then? Get a grip!”

“Be nice to your brother, Robin! But R is right, Hood. You need to keep it together for at least a bit longer since I would really like for you guys to find me. And we need you for that, okay?”

Damian’s words had been harsh and unfair but Dick thought he had sensed affection behind them. Still, he needed Jason on this case. They would need the big guy when it came to digging him out at the very least. And Dick believed in them. They would find him and he would be alright.

“Okay… yeah, okay, you guys are right. Freaking the fuck out is for later. Shit. Okay. Di- Big Bird? How much air do you have?”

The way Jason’s voice wavered made Dick’s stomach drop. His little brother was not okay. Well, when was he ever? But Dick wasn’t there to take care of that for him.

“5 ½ hours if we’re lucky. And I don’t know how long I was in here before I woke up. And it’s more of a box than a coffin, so probably less. Let’s say 3 hours until it gets dangerous? And that only if I remember the breathing exercises B taught me for situations like this.”

This little mathematical journey had done nothing to still the panic that wanted to take residence in Dick’s stomach. He would probably start losing his focus around the 2 ½ hour mark at the latest. 

He really, really hoped they had at least a clue where to look for him.

“Okay. Okay- do we have a lead, Robin?”

“-tt-, they jammed Batman’s tracker, so we are going to have to do old school detective work. Oracle, just send me a picture of the van most likely to have been used by these foolish criminals.”

A jammed tracker. Dick was pretty sure that these criminals hadn’t been foolish at all. They had knowingly left him with his comm unit, so he could hear his allies and their fruitless attempts at rescue. Only that his brothers would find him. They had Oracle on their side, so of course, they would find him. That reminded him:

“Oracle? And how long have I been missing?”

It was Jason that answered him:

“Oracle opened up a different channel for us to talk to you, so we didn’t spam the mission one. Said it was safer this way-”

“And Hood here only arrived at my location a good 20 minutes after you were taken. Imbecile. And you responded roughly half an hour after that. We’ve been searching the area at that time but your new… predicament had us enlarge our search radius”

Dick listened to his brothers talk, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position for his body. But the Batsuit was really not made for laying comfortably in it. It was aggravating not being able to do anything. All he _could_ do was encourage his siblings.

“That is some play book perfekt response to a kidnapping. Well done, Robin”

His Robin. He really hoped he wouldn’t become the second Batman to die on this kid.

“Oh? And I get no ‘Well done’?”

Jason’s voice was still brittle but he tried. So hard. For Damian. For Dick. But most importantly for himself. Jason didn’t need to see someone else die in a coffin.

“Of course, how could I? Well done, Hood. You followed a protocol. All that talk about you being a rebel? All fake!”

Warmth spread through Dick as he heard Damian snicker and Jason sputter. Maybe they would be alright without him? No. That was no way of thinking. His survival was crucial.

But him talking was a bad idea. He needed to get into a calmer head-space to give the boys more time to find him. They would probably need it.

“So, Robin? Hood? I am gonna meditate for a bit, yeah? ‘Cause I wanna be fresh and lucid when you find me, okay?”

Why his voice wavered now of all times, Dick didn’t want to know. He had just started to get ready. With all the focus Bat-training had inclined in him, he began counting his breaths.

Jason and Damien sounded far way when they agreed and shut of their end of the line. 

It was silent. And for a while that worked (Dick had no idea how much time had passed) but when first the air started tasting stale and later his pulse became a thundering background noise im his head, he knew he had to do something.

He opened the line again. His voice sounded wrong in his own ears but he knew his brothers would hear him clearly:

“Hey. How’s it going?”

At first there was no answer and Dick feared that they didn’t get his message but then Damian’s voice cut through the mess of Dick’s own thoughts:

“We lost the van we were tailing but another clue might just have presented itself. Why? I thought you were meditating?”

Dick wanted to huff but that would be a really dumb idea. There was no more air to spare.

“I was. It’s just… I…”

His voice lost itself. What was he supposed to say? Damian was a ten year old kid. Dick was his guardian and it was his job to shoulder the heavy stuff. Stuff, like Dick’s fear of dying. Or the fact that each and every breath tasted of the one before. That Dick could no longer control his pulse. That lying alone in a grave in the darkness was fucking terrifying. 

But he didn’t have to explain himself. Help came from an unexpected source: Jason.

“It’s alright. We get it, you want some quality bro time while we’re at it. But remember: No talking. We can tell you shit but you should stay silent, ‘kay?”

“‘kay”

Dick smiled. At least his brothers would always have his back. He tried to find that space again, that weird plane of consciousness were his worries became back drops in the expanse of the universe but each time his mind began to drift a breath would get caught in his throat or one of his legs would twitch painfully.

But at least he had his brothers to listen to now.

“-tt-, what shall we talk about then, Hood? The weather? Your absolut failure as a Robin? Or how you stole the bike from the Bunker?”

Dick suppressed the need to face palm. He knew that Damian was trying, that the boy had rightfully sensed that he should banter or keep a conversation going but Damian wasn’t able yet to understand the difference between playful banter and outright hostility. But Jason did. And tonight Jason decided to overlook Damian’s hand-ax to a forest approach. Maybe for him, maybe for Dick. The only thing that counted was that he did.

“Not so fast, Demon Brat. I can just tell you the story of my first Christmas at Wayne Manor. It has all the things that you like: Dickiebird, Misery, some good food, and Batman”

No Names in the field, Dick wanted to remind them but instead he just hummed contemplative. It was not a bad story, just a lonely one. Lonely, because only a handful of memories had been forged with Jason that held enough importance to be told as a story.

A weird buzzing sound had joined the thumping of his blood. Dick didn’t like it. His arms and legs were getting cramped and the air tasted foul. Dick would have thought that Bruce would have found a way to make the Batsuit more comfortable after all these years, but no, there was itching and pressure points and Dick wanted out of this box and out of the suit and out, out, out.

Not even Jason’s soothing voice could completely conceal the wish of Dick’s body to crawl out of it’s skin:

“So, you know, I am a tiny little fucker, 12-years old or something, and B-man took me in like a few months ago at best. He and Big Bird aren’t really talking at this point, so I am prepared for a awkward as hell Christmas. And I mean fucking capital A awkward. But then B comes to me the day before Dick was supposed to show up and tells me, that Dickie had gone and gotten himself injured and that he had lied to Batman and told him that he couldn’t make it for some bullshit reason. Now B, being the paranoid Bastard that he was, had of course figured out that D was lying. So, he-”

Jason’s voice suddenly cut off. Dick’s heart sped up. For a moment there was only static. Fuck. He could’t let the panic win. He couldn’t succumb to his fear. 

(Even if he wanted to)

And then, thank god, another voice came through again. Damian. 

“Hood, has run into a little trouble and had to focus on something else. I am going to be the only one to keep you company”

Dami’s voice was flat and without a face to compare it to, Dick had no idea what Damian is feeling. That thought sat heavy in his stomach.

“How far are we along? What’s your status?”

This time the hesitation in Damian’s voice was palpable. 

“It has been exactly 2 hours and 9 minutes since we last talked. But fear not, we have a possible location for your gr- for your position. Hood just got found out by some low life scum, so he’s busy for a bit.”

Dick laughed, or tried to, but something held his chest down, pushing every last bit of air out of his body. Too late did Dick realize that he was basically having a small seizure. While his body stopped cooperating, twitching and convulsing, his brain went into overdrive.

All he could do was hope that there would be enough air left when this was over, that it would be a short seizure, that he would not lose conscious. Because he was pretty sure if that happened he wouldn’t wake up again.

Through the roaring in his ears he could hear Damian yelling.

Everything but the burning sensation in his lungs went out of focus. It felt like ages when his body finally complied and took a deep breath. And promptly coughed. 

Minutes went by in which Dick desperately tried to get his bearings back. Every sip of air was a relief and a disappointment at the same time. Damian’s panicked requests for Dick to answer, for Jason to hurry up, became a backdrop to the frantic beating of his heart.

He was royally fucked.

His breathing evened out somewhat and he was finally, finally able to answer Damian.

“Hey, Lil’ D…”

“Grayson! What’s your status? Report!”

Damian sounded frantic still, but what really broke Dick’s heart was the small “please” that followed his request. Dick wanted to hug his little brother, tug him into bed and tell him everything would be alright. 

“It seems… that there is now a… critical” -cough- “amount of… CO2 in the air of this… box…”

Even getting these few words out had been a challenge. The steel band across his torso was getting tighter and tighter. He was dying of heat and Dick no longer even tried to keep his eyes open and directed at the darkness. He would pass out soon. But not yet.

“Tell me something?”

Dick was scared. He felt tiny and small again, getting lost in the darkness of the cave, when Batman could still pick him up and throw him at gangsters. When he had still felt powerless. 

He was powerless now.

“I should tell you something?”

There was honest surprise in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a true child now. When this was over Dick would do anything to make sure Dami knew just how much his opinion was appreciated. 

“Okay.”

There was no anger or pride or arrogance tainting the little guys voice. It was only Damian. Maybe the most clear Dick had ever heard him.

“When I was in the League, food was something that got eaten out of necessity rather than enjoyment but Mother really liked this one dish, _Raita_, this salad, nothing special but Grandfather said the pleasures of food have no space in the heart of an assassin and…”

While Damian paused to gather his thoughts or survey his surroundings, Dick swore to himself that he would survive this, if only so he could punch Ra’s al Ghul into the face. No child deserved what Damian had gone through. 

Dick had to be so much better than he had been to be the guardian this boy deserved.

“But Mother didn’t really agree with Grandfather when it came to her favorite food. So, once or twice a year we would sneak into the next village and eat _Raita _and _Biryani_ and _Karahi_. Those were my favorite kind of days because they meant no lessons, only Mother and I and masses of spicy food”

Damian spoke so rarely of his time with the League - and maybe that was Dick’s fault too - that it hurt to think that this boy had probably never told anyone this little tidbit of information. For a moment Dick wondered if there were any restaurants that served the dishes Damien described but then he decided that he would learn to cook them instead. The same way that Alfred had learned to cook his favorite Romani dishes for him.

“Richard?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t die, please”

Never, he wanted to say. But that would be a lie. And Damien deserved more than a lie.

“I try to…”

His voice gave out by the end of that sentence and Dick was pretty sure that there was no way his voice would come back until he could breath again.

His only source of oxygen had been reduced to short gasps sucked through his clenched teeth. His muscles hadn’t stopped twitching for some while now. 

Unconsciousness was only a few minutes away, he knew.

“We found something, Grayson! I think we found you!”

Damian was obviously elated. And Dick wanted to be too, honestly, but that took too much energy. Instead he tried to keep breathing.

“Ja- Hood is starting to dig now! We have you! Only a few minutes!”

The buzzing was back. Or was it just getting louder? 

“Grayson?”

It was hard to understand Damian at all now. 

“Batman…?”

When was the last time he felt his fingers? Dick couldn’t remember. 

“Richard? please… you said…”

He finally let go of his need to breath. The darkness greeted him.

“… you promised…”

He didn’t.


	20. Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason would have never thought that his older brother was such an annoying teenager. Well, he thought wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!  
Chapter 20 is in the house! And I finally tried something I wanted to do: A De-Aging Fic!  
Thank you all so much for the Kudos and the Comments and the Subscriptions! You guys keep me going! <3
> 
> Warnings: None

Jason would very much like to make a public statement: He fucking hated magic. 

He hated being subjected to it, he hated fighting it, and he hated it when it turned his brothers into whiny 16-year-olds. Or one particular brother.

“And now tell me again just how you know The Batman?”

Dick was currently sitting next to Jason in the Batmobile (Just thinking about the fact that he had to take the car made Jason shiver) being the most annoying teenager Jason had ever had the honor of knowing. And fuck, Jason met his fair share of asshole teenagers. Before and after his death. And he met himself.

This evening had started relatively normal with Dick joining him on patrol so he could annoy Jason into coming to family dinner on Sunday when the peaceful (Gotham peaceful, mind you) night got disturbed by a young magic user. A few blows later and suddenly Dick had screamed and Asshole!Dick had appeared. 

And now Jason had no idea how to explain this or in how much detail to explain this situation to the more inexperienced hero. 

“As I said, I am a… friend of sorts of Batman”

What was he supposed to say? That he was the disgraced younger brother who died, came back, and managed to fight with Bruce at least once a week. That he only recently started talking to Dick and the Brats in any form of regularity again. That he'd killed people and didn’t even feel sorry about it. Yeah, big No to that.

“But you have guns. Batman hates guns”

As if Jason didn’t know that.

“I am aware, yes.”

“But then how-”

“Can you shut up for one second. Please.”

They both knew he wasn’t really asking. But Dick’s constant whining was grating on his nerves and Jason had promised Oracle updates as soon as they neared the Batcave. He opened up his comm unit:

“Hey, O. Me and Tiny D will be arriving in the Cave in approximately 5 minutes. Is everything ready?”

“Zatanna has been contacted, but she is currently on a mission and might only return tomorrow afternoon. B had been informed as well. Him and the others are at the Cave”

“Well, Fuck. This isn’t going to be pretty”

“Why?”

“‘Cause Tiny D already hates me and when he sees the Brat he is going to completely lose it”

“Oh. I’ll warn them”

He sure hoped she did. Having this Dick meet Damian would only end in disaster. And then they would have no choice but to explain how much the times had changed. Jason knew for a fact that figuring out just how shitty the future was tended to fuck people up.

“Who is O? Why am I gonna ‘loose it’ if I see a brat? And why does Gotham look so different?”

Jason stared at the boy next to him. And then, while holding eye contact, he flipped a switch to tint the windows in both directions.

“What are you? Five? You ask questions like some kid that wants to know where babies come from.”

If Jason had hoped that Dick would be embarrassed by something like this, he would be horribly disappointed. Dick just flipped him off:

“Sorry for having natural curiosity, Asshole”

Suddenly Jason felt a deep connection with every person who had to deal with him during his teenage years. He was almost happy to have been dead for most of them. Almost.

But before Jason could start brawling with the teenager for real, they arrived in the Batcave. Only Alfred and Batman were waiting for them. Thank god.

Mostly. Because Bruce gaze narrowed down on Jason as soon as he left the car. 

“What happened? Oracle was painfully vage over the comms.”

“First of all, I want to disclose that it was not my fault. Second of all, say hello to the teenage version of our Golden Boy!”

If Jason was a lesser person he would take immense joy in the blanched look on Bruce’s face. Oh, who was he kidding. It was gold! He would totally ask O for pictures later. 

Only then did he realize that Dickie hadn’t reacted much to the Batman standing in front of them. Instead an almost similar look of shock colored Dick’s cheeks. And yet it was still the teenager who recovered first:

“You look older. So whatever this lunatic said is true? I am in the future?”

Now Batman was looking at him again. Hey, what was he supposed to do? Tell Dick that he got magic blasted into his teenage body and mind? Yeah, no thank you. Bruce seemed to read just that in the scope of his shoulders when he shrugged. 

“Richard. Yes, we… I can explain but first…”

“Master Dick, let’s get you out of these clothes and into the Manor for some tea and biscuits. It doesn’t become you all to just stand around like lost puppies.”

Jason had so many questions. First: The panicked tone of voice from Bruce and the fact that he called Dick Richard. Second: Dick’s lacking reaction to anything Bruce said. Third: The relieved smile on Dick’s face when Alfred intervened and send him away. Maybe Jason was the one who ended up in the wrong timeline.

Dick vanished into the locker room, Alfred following him to prepare some clothes. As if in slow motion Jason turned around to stare at Bruce:

“What the ever loving fuck was that?”

“Dick and I, we had a… complicated relationship long before you came along. We started fighting when he was 15 or 16 and never really stopped until Tim happened and he made an effort”

“That’s bullshit. He’s the Golden Boy. You talked about him all the time when I was Robin. Fuck, I prayed at night sometimes to be more like him, so you’d like me more. Don’t you tell me, you two were just as fucked up as the rest of us”

Bruce looked at him with shock evident in his face. Hell, Jason was surprised by this outbreak of feelings and secrets. Had he also been affected by the magic? Hopefully not. He would rather not deal with his feelings. Or anyones for that matter.

“Of course I loved him. It just became harder and harder to tell him. Or show him. And-”

“And it was your fucking job to show him, you're the parent, so stop making excuses”

With that Jason left. Left, to go upstairs. Luckily his costume was easy to modify into ‘up-stairs appropriate clothing’, so he didn’t have to change. He might already be exhausted by all these emotions going around but leaving Dick alone with emotionally constipated Bruce seemed also wrong.

Damian was waiting on the other side of the Cave entrance, a complicated look on his face. Jason was too tired for this shit.

“What do you want, Brat?”

“ -tt-, is Grayson really a younger version of himself?”

“Oh, you went snooping… Yeah, he is. And now go plan a murder or whatever. He doesn’t need to see your mug right now. He’s fucked up enough at it is”

“Screw you, Todd!”

With one one last deadly glare in Jason’s direction, Damian sprinted out of the room. Was he a little harsh? Maybe, but it was 3 am and nobody in this fucking family was asleep. It wasn’t Jason’s fault that all of them were fucking freaks.

On his way to the kitchen Alfred met him in the hallway, a tray of hot drinks and snacks balanced on one hand. The man took a look at Jason before motioning for him to follow him to the sitting room:

“A more - dare I say - neutral party might relax the situation between Master Dick and Master Bruce at least for a short-time. I assume you are up for the job, Master Jason?”

Before Jason could answer, a frighteningly alien voice spoke up:

“Master Jason? If he’s only a friend of B’s why do you call him that, Alfie?”

Dick sounded so much younger than the 16-years he currently was. Jason suppressed a shiver. The innocence in his big brother's voice freaked him out for some reason, but no idea why. 

Next to him Alfred sighed. It was the sigh of a man, who had grown far too old, who had seen too many things and done too many deeds. It was the sigh of the man Jason had grown up with. 

“You see, Master Dick, the future is at large a complicated thing. Nothing stays the same or changes without reason. Master Jason is an addition to this household we cherish, just as we cherish your presence here. And now sit down and drink some tea before it grows cold. You too, Master Jason”

And Jason did follow Alfred’s instructions. It surprised him again and again how much Alfred cared for them - and how much he was able to control them all. Dick had also sat down, only barely avoiding Alfred’s stern gaze. The boy wore Tim’s clothes, which for the first time ever looked big on someone. Then again Tim was older than teenage Dick currently was, and Dick hit his last growth spurt with 18, if the stories were to belief. It looked ridiculous, nevertheless. 

They sipped tea in silence for a bit before Dick managed to gather his wits:

“Is Bruce still like that? Like, he couldn’t even look me in the eyes… do you think he’s still mad that I crashed the Batmobile?”

Jason couldn’t stop himself from laughing. It was a hilarious mental image of Dick Grayson standing in the ruins of Bruce’s favorite car, scratching the back of his head cluelessly. The Dick in front of him didn’t take his amusement quite so good-natured, however:

“Whatever. Shut up.”

“Is that the way you talk to people in this household now, Richard?”

Bruce had appeared behind them and in typical Bat-fashion both of them hadn’t realized that he was there. They almost jumped out of their seats. It took a moment for Jason to process the words that left Bruce’s mouth. Why did the man suddenly revert back to his old methods? They hadn’t worked the first time either, evidently.

“Pff, Jason said Fuck like ten times already and you never once said anything. So, you can either shut up too or tell me what the hell is going on!”

Teenage Dick was livid, apparently. And shit, Jason could understand him. That, and this whole situation was just immensely entertaining. It felt like watching a thriller when Bruce’s lips thinned out and his eyes bored themselves into Dick’s. But Jason was in for a surprise: Bruce softened his voice and his gaze.

“You are right, Ri- Dick. I treated you unfairly just now and I’m falling back into bad habits. And you deserve better than that. If you just sit down, I will explain everything to you, okay?”

Dick seemed shocked. It was the look of a fish out of water. Jason could see the clenched fists, the trembling motion in his shoulders, and he knew that Dick was out for confrontation. And the lack of it had completely thrown him.

“It’s alright, Dickie. This isn’t our first rodeo and it’s certainly not yours either. Just sit down and everything’s gonna be alright”

Who would have thought that the job of deescalating would one day fall on Jason? He certainly not.

Bruce send him a relieved look and now Jason was sure that he had somehow landed in an alternative universe. God, someone get Zatanna already, Jason didn’t want to deal with this anymore as entertaining as it was.

Once everyone was seated again, Bruce addressed the elephant in the room:

“You have not so much traveled forward in time, Dick, as you mentally - and physically - traveled backwards. It is the year 2017 and you are a 26-year old vigilante. But a spell turned your mind and body in that of 16-year old you and we are trying to fix that. Okay?”

Well, it had to be okay because in that moment the compartment holding the snooping part of the family aka Damian, Tim, and Steph loosened and made all three of them stumble into the room. 

“Oh, isn’t he adorable! He must be the cutest teenager to exist. This is a crime!”

“You dated me when I was his age, so I must have been cute too, right?”

“As if”

“Shut it, Demon Brat”

“I mean… you were cute but not Dick Grayson levels of cute. He is an angel. Just look at him!”

“-tt-, get your dirty hands of Grayson, Fatgirl. Don’t taint him like that!”

“Hey! She has a name, Gremlin!”

“She can defend herself!”

Right about now Jason would gladly take a bullet to the head. And by the looks of it Dick would happily accept one, too. His little-big brother had grown paler with each yelled and overlapping sentence. His fist was tightly griping the armrest, knuckles white and pronounced. 

Fuck. This was a situation ready to blow. And before either Jason or Bruce could do anything to defuse it, Dick exploded:

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? What the hell is going on! I don’t know any of you! SO SHUT UP! AND YOU TOO, BRUCE! THIS FAMILY IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

It didn’t help that Tim had to stifle a laugh at that last line. Dick would have probably stormed off anyways but now he made sure to bump into Tim on his way out. It was childish and petty and Jason was utterly delighted to see his big brother partake in something like that.

Silence fell over the room after Dick had left. It was the really uncomfortable kind of silence, the one that made you want to dig yourself a hole to hide in. Jason was about ready to leave, when Bruce caught his eyes across the room. Ah, fuck. That was why Jason didn’t like being the responsible one. You did it once and suddenly everyone thought you would do it again.

“Where is he off to?”

The relief in Bruce’s face and voice when Jason made his offer should not make him that happy. Jason really hated feelings.

“The roof. At least I hope so, because his old room is now Tim’s”

Yeah, Jason did too. This evening didn’t need a case of vandalism to round it up. With a sigh Jason chased after Dick.

He did indeed find his small-big brother on the roof. Crying. It was wrong to see the big guy break down like that. Dick was the one who comforted them when they were down. Dick was the one who righted their wrongs.

And now it was time for Jason to do the same.

“Hey”

“Fuck off”

Okay, maybe Jason had to think of a better strategy to get the grumpy teenager to talk. Maybe it was time for a bit of honesty. Disgusting.

“You know… Valid. I would have told Bruce the same when he’d come to me after a fight. And we fought soooo much. We still do. Constantly. You even make fun of us for it. Older you, I mean. And I’m not gonna lie, it sucks being constantly on the out with some part of the family, but it’s manageable. And sometimes you just gotta rage. Just don’t kill anyone and you're good”

Jason grinned. Or at least smiled. Dick didn’t need to know the really fucked up part of their history. 

“Family?”

“Yeah, the Batclan. Bruce, you, me, the little Demon Brat, Tim - the idiot -, Cass and Duke, who were intelligent enough to stay in their rooms, Steph, who doesn’t even live here, Barbara… the whole Batclan.”

“I don’t have a family.”

It hurt more than Jason wanted to admit to hear those words uttered by the one person who had made them all a family. 

“Why do you say that?”

“Because… B isn’t my dad. My dad is dead. And even if I try to be enough that maybe Bruce starts thinking of me as his kid, I always screw up. Nothing I do is enough. I try to be good at school but I hate it there. Most of the kids are assholes, the teachers think I’m dumb even when I write straight A’s and I get in fights anyway. And when I try to be Robin Batman hates me even more… it always ends with him lecturing me, benching me, telling me to be better. But what if I’m already the best I can be? What if Dick Grayson just isn’t enough?”

Jason had to swallow tears. Some part of him knew that Dick had never told anyone what he just told him. Because when Dick felt like this the first time round, nobody had taken a seat next to him and listened. 

“I know this sounds like fucking nothing to you, but Future Dick is enough. Future Dick is the standard people live up to. Future Dick is a damn good hero”

“Then why did he replace me?”

The shock had to be visible on Jason’s face because Dick’s dry chuckle sounded sardonic.

“I’m not dumb. I knew something was fishy. I took a backdoor into the Batcomputer from the small phone I stole from you”

Dick held indeed Jason’s phone in his hands. That little fucker. Jason was impressed.

“And you came after me. You're the next Robin. From my point of view in only three months. And then you die? And come back? And Timothy comes and Cassandra and Stephanie and Damian and… and I am the faulty first try. I am the one who got into fistfights with Bruce. I am the one who got suspended from school so often they threatened to expel me. Only Bruce’s fucking check book saved me.”

The tears had stopped earlier when they talked but now they were back with full force. Dick’s whole body was trembling from the force of his sobs and the chilling wind in the middle of a November night. Jason was just happy that it didn’t rain.

“I am… the one… Alfred can’t… look in the eyes… anymore… I’m the one… who's… who's so angry… all the time… why am I always angry?”

It was hard to understand him, too many tears, too many sobs interrupting his story, but it was one Jason knew all to well. It was the story of a lost teenager in a world made of violence with no way out. It was in some ways his story too.

(And Jason didn’t want to know how his relationship with Bruce would have ended if he had never died, if he would be like Goldie, Bruce’s second hand while constantly despising him)

Jason scooted closer to Dick, making every movement obvious. When he was close enough, he did something he never thought he would do out of his own free will: He rapped Dick in a hug. Jason knew that he was built for hugs, but pressing the smaller body of his brother against his, it looked as if he had swallowed the boy up. If it weren’t for the tremble Jason could still feel against his chest.

“It’s okay. We are all angry. That’s in the job description. And it sucks. And we fuck shit up constantly because of it. But that’s not just on you. Especially not now. Right now you are a kid. And, fuck it, it isn’t a kids job to iron out the faults of our elders. But Robin never understood that. None of us did. None of us do. Just… just remember that you are not alone, okay?”

He could feel Dick nod. It was a weird feeling but maybe Jason finally understood why Dick was always chasing hugs. It made you feel good - and helpful. Because Jason couldn’t help the Dick from ten years ago, and he certainly couldn’t help him turn back, but he could give this version of his brother, that existed only in this instance of time, a hug and maybe make everything a tiny bit better. 

God, when had he gotten this mushy? 

“Good, now let’s get back inside. Maybe Alfred is gracious enough to sneak us a hot chocolate. And tomorrow Zatanna takes a look at you and everything will turn out alright”

Another nod. The trembling had lessened. 

“And give me my phone back, you little shit”

That made Dick laugh. Mission accomplished.

“I mean it. Give it back!”


	21. Laced Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a Wayne Gala Dick has a run in with a woman in red, she reminds him of Tarantula for more reasons than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! ^^  
I am here with chapter 21 and all of you are to thank for it! The responses to this fic are phenomenal and I am so happy when I see how much you enjoy yourself reading it! Thank you all so much! <3  
That to say, this chapter does deal with the aftermath of Nightwing #93 and alludes heavily to past rape/non-con. There is also an active attempt of sexual assault in this chapter. So stay safe!
> 
> Warnings: Past Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Sexual Assault, Non-consensual Drugging, Panic Attacks

It was a Wayne Kid tradition to hate the galas. Bruce had hated them as a child (and still did), Dick feared them when he was smaller (and still did), Jason was enraged with them, Tim indifferent (but they all knew he was internally suffering), Damien saw them as pointless, and Cass just didn’t go because no one wanted to make her mad or sad (there was still a jury out which of these was worse). But with the exception of Jason and Cass all of them still had to attend.

And for this particular one, Dick had stolen Steph as his date. Babs had gotten her own invitation as one of the benefactors and driving force of this galas charity goal: Accessibility In Gotham. And everyone who knew Barbara also knew that she didn’t need an arm candy for an evening like this. She was enjoying the spotlight all on her own. Dick was perfectly content in letting her soak up all the attention. She had earned it.

But he had still needed a date, and with Kory of world, Donna in Themiscyra, and Wally busy taking care of his kids, very few options had remained. Also, he did kind of owe Steph one or two favors still, so why not bring her to a fancy gala?

(There might also be the part of him that wanted to tease Tim a little bit. So what? Everyone and their grandparents knew that Steph was like a little sister to him and big brothers needed to have some fun, too)

But standing together at the snack table, Dick once again understood why both Cass and Tim had taken a liking to her (and Bruce. But both B and Steph would try to fight him on it):

“Oh my god! Did you see that lilac monstrosity? I bet, she says it’s purple if you ask her, but only a colorblind parrot would call that _purple_. It’s a disgrace to all things Purple! Imagine the Outfit in that shade! Nobody would take me seriously anymore! ‘Who are you?’ ‘Oh, me? The Lilac Laughingstock B-’ ‘Laughable!’ ‘That’s what I just said’”

She was even doing voices for her impromptu showcase of her imaginative Batgirl adventures. Dick was trying really hard not to choke on the shrimp appetizer. But not too hard. The woman Steph was dragging? Mrs. Montgomery, who had always given the most backhanded compliments on the whole planet. Dick was secretly convinced she was racist too but couldn’t proof it. 

“Bringing you was the best decision I ever made.”

“Still not sure if it actually counts as repaying a favor since, you know, this is again more off a favor to you, but these shrimp thingies are delicious and I look like the bomb, so of we go I guess.”

Few things made him feel as old as talking to Steph sometimes did and he was only seven years her senior. But how had she said it? Of we go, he guessed.

Together they made their way through the crowds. With sparkling cider in one hand and Steph’s hilarious social commentary in the other ear, this evening was almost fun.

“Is that Dr. Hawk? Did’t he announce last week that he and his wife were celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary? Well, I didn’t know it was legal to marry literal babies, even here in Gotham.

“Oh, Mr. Jenkins is gettin’ real familiar with the twins of that one model Bruce dated once… watched too much porn, I bet.

“That woman over there? In that seriously R rated dress? She just tripped her ex, so he would bump into a waiter. Savage. I stan her.”

How she knew so much about the High Society of Gotham he had no idea, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Heck, it would be entertaining if she made all of that stuff up. Especially since she managed to be perfectly charming while talking to the people she had dragged only minutes before. It was Dick who had to stifle a laugh more often than not.

But the mingling portion of the evening came to an end. People were slowly taking their seats. Babs’ speech would start in only a few minutes.

Dick looked at Steph, signaling her that they should start moving too, when a waiter appeared by their side:

“Some fresh drinks for the toast, sirs?”

With a nod both Dick and Steph swapped their empty glasses with full ones. Stephs still drinking sparkling cider (”No, I am not enough of a Cool Older Brother to give you alcohol on a Wayne Gala. Another time? For sure. Today? No way”) and Dick switching to champagne. It was a toast after all.

Taking their seats, Dick was once again reminded how gracefully Steph handled this situation. Dick had been a mess at his first gala and while this wasn’t her first - she had gone with Tim plenty of times - Dick had never quite lost his fear of these high society functions. He had only gotten better at acting and keeping up appearances. Steph on the other hand? Oh, she was a natural. 

A truly tear-jerking speech by Babs later, came the toast that would officially start the part Dick had been waiting for: The food. Socializing costed energy and he was hungry.

It was - as per tradition - the current head of the Wayne family that gave it:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome and thank you for coming to this event! Wayne Enterprises always encouraged the more charitable people to come together and this evening we celebrate again with a good cause! But nothing makes spending money easier than a good meal and lots of wine! So, enjoy this masterfully prepared menu and don’t be too stingy. To those who are Charitable and to all good Causes!”

Glasses were clinging all throughout the venue, and yet Dick could only focus on Steph’s silly faces as Bruce gave his genuinely bad toast. He knew appearances had to be kept but Barbara’s speech deserved better than this. 

He took a few sips of his champagne anyways. He had to wash the bad taste away, somehow. 

When he looked again, Steph had turned sideways to talk to a girl half her age, that looked bored half to death. Dick understood. He had probably looked the same when he was that tiny. 

Across the room he spotted Tim, who had brought Tam, talking to Barbara, congratulating her. He needed to remind himself to do that later, too. Letting the Brucie persona destroy her moment would be pitiful. Especially when he was the one doing it. It wasn't his job to get mad in her stead. He had to get a grip.

With a quick “I have to freshen up, I’ll be right back” he left both the table and Steph behind. He could already feel a headache starting to built up.

Why the sudden bad mood? Count on Bruce to make Dick despite even galas he tried to enjoy.

By the time he reached the men’s restroom the headache was hammering against his skull. 

The world slurred a little bit around him. That was really not good but hopefully nothing a little water couldn’t remedy. 

The water did help. But a look into the mirror certainly didn’t: His pupils were blown wide and there was a thin sheet of sweat on his way-too-pale-for-comfort face. He knew these symptoms. He had been drugged.

Panic made his heart beat faster, betraying him, making whatever drug or poison he had ingested work even faster. There was some serious blurring going on.

He stumbled out of the restroom only to almost fall when his side grazed the form of a woman on her way to the ladies room. 

“S’ s’rry”

His voice was betraying his intoxicated state. He didn’t want to cause a scene at this event. This was Barbara's evening. There was no need for a Wayne Story in the tabloids that distracted from all the good she was doing for the world. Both as Oracle and as Barbara Gordon.

The unknown woman only laughed. Dick’s eyes wouldn’t focus long enough to make out details, but her dress was a dangerous shade of red.

What if the poison in his system was meant to kill him? Had he drank enough of it for that? 

A part of him wanted answers to these questions while the rest of him already knew what the more likely possibility was: That someone had slipped him some version of roofies. Maybe only to embarrass him, to make a drunk fool out of him. Maybe to…

Please only that.

He didn’t… couldn’t… 

Just not today, okay?

Was the woman still there? Yes, she was. There was concern in her voice when she spoke with him:

“Everything alright? Maybe some fresh air would help?”

He wanted to shake his head. He needed to find someone - Steph, or Tim, or even Bruce. He needed… he felt her hand on his arm, slowly guiding him to one of the more secluded balconies on the venue. 

Resisting her seemed to take too much strength. Only moments later fresh air hit his face. It cleared his mind for maybe two seconds before everything became muddled again. 

But those short few seconds had been enough for him to realize that something was very wrong. That he should so something. That maybe this _was_ the time to panic. That there was something seriously menacing about her.

With movements that lacked his usual grace, he stumbled away from the woman in red, only to slip and fall backwards. His head knocked against the railing, but the only thing that did was make the world spin a bit more.

When he looked up the woman was still there, in the center of dark swirls of color.

“Ups! Look after yourself! Here let me help you!”

With that she came closer again, more careful this time. He wanted to evade her but his limbs weren’t his anymore. 

(_Too familiar. Not now. Not ever_)

Her hands touched his shoulder. A violent shiver went through him. 

(_It had been cold. Oh, so terribly cold_)

“Don’t worry, I will take care of you”

(_”Everything is alright, Baby. It’s all okay… hush now”_)

There were fingers touching his chest, brushing through his hair, caressing his cheeks. Nausea pooled in his stomach.

(_Rain running down his body. Rain running down **her** body_)

His arms wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. Betrayed him once again.

There was nothing he could do when hot tears started to spill through his closed eyes and there was nothing he could do when she started to kiss them away.

All he could think about (what a lie, as if he could ever forget **her**) was how this was supposed to be Barbara's evening. How it was supposed to be all about her and yet here he was, getting raped again. 

Raped.

Maybe the first time he had used that word for himself. 

What a shitty situation to come to that conclusion.

(_”Hush… Baby… Quiet, mi amor. Callado…”_)

Her hands moved again, started opening up his shirt, started roaming his chest, started dancing on the edge of his belt buckle when…

“Get away from him, you absolut Creep!”

Never had a voice sounded sweeter. With a yell and some commotion Steph descended upon the balcony and made sure that everything would turn out okay. She shouldn’t have to, she was only twenty, but in that moment she was the only thing keeping Dick together. 

He couldn’t really follow what happened next, only that one moment that woman had been touching him and the next she was away - away from him, away from the balcony, just away. He slowly opened his eyes, to see Steph crouching in front of him. 

Just Steph. No one else. 

Relief washed over him like a cleansing spring flood. He also had some different spring cleaning to do. With a motion that made the nausea only worse - and that forced things out of his limbs they refused to do what seemed only moments ago - Dick turned towards the railing and threw up. 

And again. And again.

He was only retching at this point and his spittle was mixing with the tears that streamed down his face. Everything just wanted to leave his body. Every emotion he felt in the last few minutes (how much time had past?) suddenly screamed to be heard. 

Things haunted his thoughts that he had spent years on burying. 

No. No. No, no, no, no…

He only remembered that Steph was still there when she cleared her throat and asked:

“Should I get someone? Babs? Or Bruce?”

“No! No. No, no, no… please, just, no… they deserve a good evening…”

He didn’t want them to see him like this. For Bruce to have to built him up again, like a failed pet project that just couldn’t deliver. And this was Babs' evening. He couldn’t destroy it. Not like he destroyed everything else in her life.

“And you don’t? You don’t deserve a good evening? Comfort? Why? Because some Sick Fuck tried to take a bite out of you?”

Steph sounded angry and, honestly, Dick was too tired for this.

“Please not right now”

He had closed his eyes again, kneeling by the railing with his forehead pressed against the cold metal. It helped clear his head a little.

“Sorry. I… I just hate seeing people I like suffer. I can go, if you want to be alone?”

“Stay! Please, stay.”

There was no rational explanation for it except maybe that fact that Steph had been great company the entire evening, but the thought of her leaving made Dick want to cry harder. He needed a Batgirl right now and she was the one for the job.

“Okay, I stay. Can I do anything for you? Get you some water? I can hug you if you want? Or I cannot touch you at all?”

Dick thought about it. What did he want right now? For all the shitty emotions to go away. For the shaking and crying to stop. For the pictures of **her** to stop merging with the woman in red. For this nightmare to be just that: a nightmare. And nothing real.

“Talk. Please”

“Okaaaaaaay… what can I talk about? Hm… have I ever told you about my baby?”

He must have made a surprised sound because he could her hear her huff a short laugh.

“Didn’t think so: When I was a tiny little teenager, I met a dude, thought I was in love with him, and we had sex. And you know, I am a damn intelligent woman, but fifteen year old Steph had not the best Sex Ed on this side of the river, so I got pregnant. You know, like your favorite Soap Opera character. Dude left as soon as I told him, of course…”

Her voice trailed off for a moment there and Dick finally looked at her, sitting in her fancy purple dress next to his hunched form on the balcony, reeking of puke. Her eyes stared into nothing and Dick inched closer to her, when she started talking again:

“Tim was Robin and I knew that and his civilian identity at that point - we were casual friends, you could say, but for some reason, he was the only other person I told. And he reacted perfectly. Made sure, I got to my doctors appointments, bought me weird food I was craving, made me laugh when life really didn’t want me too, and never once looked at me like I was faulty for being a teenager that got knocked up. Do you know how rare that was? You probably do.”

Dick was sitting next to her now and he could appreciate how she never once stopped her story to acknowledge his movement. The shaking had died down somewhat. But at least it was something.

His insides still felt rattled and something had broken - again - that he had thought fixed years ago. He would be walking around with lost eyes for a while.

“The thing was, I didn’t hate that child. I’m not sure I loved it, but I sure as hell didn’t hate it and yet I gave it up. ‘Cuz you know, I was 16, there was no baby daddy and I spent my nights dressed in purple. B promised me, he’d make sure the baby would be safe and I trust him. There are still moments where I question if I made the right choice but... I think I did. And that has to be enough, hasn’t it?”

There was something free in her voice and by God did Dick envy her for it. 

“Why tell me that story? Now?”

He couldn’t refrain from asking. It was an awfully personal story to tell. It was something most people wouldn’t tell someone they just saved from sexual assault. But it was the story that had stopped him from falling apart.

“Don’t know. Telling you some shit about how it will be okay and how you’re safe seemed kind of unnecessary and saying it was a one time thing is an obvious lie. And it just kind of seemed like the right story to tell. Something you needed to hear.”

He stared at her. No one should ever underestimate Stephanie Brown, he decided in that moment. He knew, he certainly wouldn’t.

It was painfully obvious how cautious he was when he laid his head on her shoulder, but he did it anyways: 

“It was the right story to tell. Thank you. And thank you for that other thing, too.”

“Always. That’s what Batgirl is for.”

He still hadn’t told Barbara how great her speech had been.


	22. Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his parents died, they never left him. They just stood next to him and watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! ^^  
Another Day, another Chapter!   
Thank you all so much for all the support and love! You are all sooooooooooo awesome! <3  
And this is Dark, guys! So be safe!
> 
> Warnings: Suicidal Intentions, Major Character Death, Deteriorating Mental Health
> 
> Disclaimer: Dick has no diagnosed mental disorder in this fic and the deterioration of his mental health does not mimic any real life disorders

It started shortly after Dick moved to Wayne Manor. 

At first there were shadows moving in the corner of his eyes, that would be gone when he turned around. Then there were dancing lights in his room at night. But there was nothing there when he asked Bruce to check for monsters under his bed.

That changed when he became Robin.

Because he saw his parents ghosts for the first time on his first patrol. They were standing behind Batman watching over the city with the trained gaze of an acrobat. 

After that, they often swung across the city with him and Batman. They were silent. In the dead of night Dick often asked them questions, begged them for confirmation that they were real, but his mother would only shake her head and smile that sad-smile only she could do. His father would try to ruffle his hair, only for his hand to faze through Dick. They couldn't touch him. But they were real. At least for him. And only for him.

It didn’t really bother Dick. It meant his parents were with him, if only in spirit.

The first time they spoke was months later when people were no longer surprised by Robin swinging by Batman’s side. They had finally found Zucco and Robin had let his whole anger out on the man, all his fear, all his hatred, all his grief. And then a hand stopped him. His mother stood in front of him, and all she said was: 

“Don’t fly down this particular dark path, Robin. Don’t be Batman. Be a Grayson” 

And Dick had dropped Zucco while tears spilled down his cheeks. He could do that. He could stop. He could be a Grayson. He would be Robin.

After that they talked to him sometimes but only when he was alone. Dick had realized early on that he was the only one seeing them and knew that they were his secret. A secret best kept alone. Later, he sometimes asked himself how different his life would have been, had he allowed himself to talk. But he never did. 

They told him stories about their early days at Haly’s, about Zitka, about grandparents he never met. Some of these stories he knew others were new. But all of them warmed his heart and made him feel at home.

Dick never wondered what his parents would think of him because he knew exactly what they thought of Robin. They were the ones who taught him to fly and they were proud of him to keep in the air.

And when Bruce fired him, they were the ones reminding him to keep going. They were the ones making sure he called a friend, they were the ones hugging him while he cried in Clark’s shirt.

They were the ones standing behind him when Clark told him about Nightwing.

Things were different after that. It felt as if they had spend their energy on keeping him going those few weeks and now they were the ones who needed to rest. Sometimes they were gone for weeks or months but they always came back and Dick was always happy to see them. They were his one constant, the one thing to remain by his side. 

When Jason came, Dick was conflicted. The boy was not at fault for his fight with Bruce but at the same time it felt like betrayal to watch another boy fly under the Robin mantel. Even with his parents voice in his ear about giving the kid a chance, trying was all Dick could do. And Dick did think that it worked. There were bumps in the road, there were bridges to burn, but at the end of it all Dick liked to think that he and Jason had seen eye to eye.

But that was before Robin died. 

That was before Dick started seeing a screaming, angry kid in the mirror each day. Jason wouldn’t talk to him, no matter how much Dick begged him to. No, Jason was just standing there, screaming and screaming and screaming and...

Dick thought about ramming a pair of scissors through his ear but his mother’s translucent hand stopped him. His parents were less and less each day. They didn’t talk anymore either. But they were still holding on. And they were still keeping him safe.

Life became harder after that. Jason followed him everywhere and sleep was hard to get. Nevertheless Dick tried to bond with the new kid. With Tim.

That made Jason switch from brainless screaming to hauling insults at Dick. Now he woke up to yells of “You hated me anyway, you sick Fuck!” or “I wish you were dead instead of me!” or “Sick Bastards! All of You!”. Dick took to throwing up after breakfast. 

And still, he made sure to have a relationship with Tim. The boy might deserve better than Dick with his screaming ghosts but he also deserved love and Dick was ready to give that.

When Jason came back his ghost didn’t vanish. When Jason tried to kill Tim, Dick’s first thought was ‘No, I can’t handle another one. I'm not that strong’. He hadn’t seen his parents in almost half a year. All he had left was a living Jason trying to kill him and a dead one screaming bloody murder.

Jason’s ghost only left when Jason became a part of their family again. But by then many more had joined the haunting of Dick Grayson.

Friends he couldn’t safe, enemies he had killed, all of them spend their time screaming at him.

And then Bruce died. And came back.

But he was gone long enough for Dick to see his ghost. For Dick to see the man that had become his second father to stand behind him and shake his head.

Dick was raising Bruce’s son now, Damian, and at each and every turn Bruce’s disappointed look send shivers down his spine. He was doing his best, okay? He was trying, but at which part was it acceptable to break down under the weight of the ghosts that followed you? At which point was it okay to just give up?

But Bruce came back and hugged Dick when he did and for a moment all of these ghosts were gone. It felt like heaven. It felt like something worth fighting for.

The only other person capable of keeping the ghosts away was Damian. The child, Dick had helped raise. The child, Dick had taught to smile.

Few things were as silent as sitting next to Damian on a warm day and watching him draw. Few things made Dick breathe as freely as he hadn’t since his parents death. Few things made him almost happy like this did. But of course, nothing in Dick's life could do just that. He wasn't made to be happy.

One tragedy raced for another. Suffering piled one one another. Each of them were breaking, and Dick led the charge, because...

Damian died.

And for a moment the world was quiet. For a moment nothing moved. For a moment _nothing_ and then everything crashed.

Dick forgot how to work, why to work, what to do. His actions became those of someone else, his eyes searching for Damian. Searching for the kid, his kid, to haunt him like everyone else in his life did. 

At first it seemed as if Damian wouldn’t come. And then there he was. His presence made the other ghosts go silent. His curious gaze made Dick’s heart keep beating. His precise tone made the world keep spinning.

And for a while that worked. For a while Dick could function as a robot as long as Damian was by his side to make a dry comment, as long as that dark hair was visible out of the corner of his eye. But when Damian started asking questions, started asking Why Dick hadn’t saved him, Why he had to die, Why death seemed to follow Dick, Dick just broke. Stopped. Crashed. Burned.

They were back to square one. Dick was falling apart and nobody seemed to notice, just as nobody ever noticed the ghosts following him. Or the ghosts that followed them.

When Superwoman's lasso caught him, Dick had already given up.

When Lex Luther forced him to swallow that pill, Dick just felt relief.

When he went under it was finally silent. When he went under he was finally alone. When he went under nothing hurt anymore. When he went under…

Batman brought him back. 

The tears welling up in his eyes were those of someone who had given up. They were the tears of Dick Grayson, once an acrobat, a Robin, a hero, a brother, now a shell. 

They were the tears of a man who wanted to die. 

They were his.


	23. Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A standard patrol takes a dark turn when Damian succumbs to the control of an unknown entity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!!   
A new chapter and there are more to come!   
All thanks to you guys! I love your comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks! <3
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

“Robin! Stop!”

But Robin didn’t stop. Not that Dick had counted on his words alone to stop his little brother. Mind control tended to be a bitch and simple orders didn’t even pierce the control some unknown force had laid over Damian.

But Dick had to try anyway. 

“Robin! It’s me, Nightwing! Your Batman! Your older brother!”

But his words did nothing. Instead he had to duck away from an incoming sword. He knew there was a reason why he usually forbade Damian from carrying his katana during patrol. Well, he had allowed it this time. Sucks for him.

But Damian kept coming. And Dick kept evading. 

It would be easier if Dick knew just what kind of mind control was at work here. It couldn’t be Talia, they had made sure of that. Mad Hatter was in Arkham and so was Poison Ivy. None of the usual players had made any move in the last few weeks. Oracle didn’t know of anyone either:

“No, nothing. But try to restrain him. Batman is on his way”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Everything possible to not touch your Baby Bird.”

“Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you should say it.”

With that Nightwing focused back on the fight in front of him. Robin was going in for a roll and before he could register it, Dick flipped over him and grabbed him from behind. Robin twisted around and clumsily slashed after Nightwing, who pressed the katana down before twisting it out of Robin’s grasp. Somewhere in the scuffle, Dick's comm unit fell out. Before he could so something about it, Robin crushed it under his boot. 

In one fluid motion Robin went from stomping to a yell and freed himself from Nightwing's hold by flipping out of arm reach. Dick kicked the sword over the edge of the rooftop their fight was taking place on, making sure that Robin had no way of getting his hands on the dangerous weapon. Both of them panted when they came to a standstill. 

“Come on, Robin! You can do it. You can break the hold on your mind!”

And for a moment there it seemed to work. Damian twitched and grasped his head. Inspired by this result, Dick kept going:

“You can do it! We can get Ice Cream after patrol if you want to. Come on, Robin!”

Damian fell to his knees. There was spittle dripping from his mouth and the twitching intensified. Dick was no longer happy about his progress, no, he was terrified by it.

“Dam- Robin? Oh, God!”

His defenses dropped away when he neared his lost bird, his Baby Bird. Slowly his hands ghosted of the kneeling form of his little brother, unsure of where to put them without hurting him further, when a small hand unsheathed a dagger and rammed it under his left armpit, piercing the light kevlar armor effortlessly. 

“Oh…”

It felt like being hit with a hammer. Every ounce of air left his body and vaguely Dick realized that he was falling backwards. His back hit the asphalt of the rooftop and jostled the knife sticking out of him. Just that tiny movement send a nausea creating amount of pain through his shoulder to his heart.

His heart. The knife had cut an artery. 

Fuck. Dick was screwed. Especially with Controlled Damian still next to him. But then he heard something else besides the panicked beating of his own heart: Damian’s frantic throwing up:

“Oh no. No. No, no, no, no…”

It seemed like Damian was panicking, too, and Dick wanted to comfort him but he feared that any form of movement could speed up the process of him bleeding out. His costume combined with the knife still being in the wound did their best to keep his blood inside of him, but sooner rather than later his body would find another way to suffer from the cut artery. He needed help. And currently Damian was the only help he got.

“Lil’ D?”

His voice sounded weak and breathy. Dick couldn’t even be sure if Damian had heard him but suddenly a pair of knees dropped down next to him and Dick managed - finally - to tear his gaze away from the light polluted sky of Gotham City. 

“Rich- Nightwing. Are you okay? Of course you aren’t. I am so sorry. I-”

Dick had not once in his life heard Damian sound so scared and so lost. Fuck mind control. It always made everyone suffer so much more. He wanted to comfort his little brother, his almost- son.

(Don’t think about the adoption papers in your desk drawer, Grayson. Keep it together)

But his mind was left realing with the possibility of his death. A knife to an artery was serious business. The kind of serious people died from. And Dick didn’t want to die. Not today. And not in front of Damian. Not with his blood on Damian’s hands.

“Da- Dami, it’s okay. B is on his… way. You just gotta… take a… look at the wound… how bad?”

Dick could see the tears stream down Damian’s face, could see the flecks of vomit on his uniform, could see the tenderness in his movements when he took a look at the knife. The frown that adorned his forehead when he looked back up did nothing to sooth Dick, however.

“The… the knife hit an artery, didn’t it?”

Dick nodded. There would be no use in lying to Damian. He would find out sooner or later and it wouldn’t be pretty either way. And judging by the storm clouds on Damian’s face, he thought along the same lines. And came to the same conclusions Dick had.

“I’m sorry. There is a growing amount of blood on the floor since the knife moved when you fell. I don’t know the correct course of action. Should I remove the knife and apply external pressure or let the knife stay and hope it stalls the blood flow long enough for Batman to arrive?”

Honestly, Dick had no idea either. But somehow Dick still had to be the adult of this situation even though he was the one bleeding out. 

“Don’t move… the knife… probably…”

Damian nodded to show his agreement. And yet tears still flowed down his cheeks. Dick had to right that wrong. His little boy shouldn’t have to cry. His little boy was supposed to be happy - something Dick never really succeeded in. And something that was highly unlikely in this situation. But still, he had to try to stop the tears.

“Don’t cry… it’s not your fault”

His tongue felt wrong and numb in his mouth. The blood loss. But there was nothing he could do to stop himself from bleeding out. All he could do was hope and wait.

“But it is my fault, Richard. I am the one who stabbed you. I’ll be the one who killed you. I am so sorry. You should have hurt me. You should have stopped me.”

“I would never… hurt you, kiddo. Never…”

“But you should have!”

Damian’s voice was loud now. As were his sobs.With his fists pressed into the floor, he looked like an abandoned cat. His little boy looked so lost, so desperate and Dick was the reason for it. A reason he was unable to right on his own.

“I love… you, Dami-an. And I will… not hurt… you”

It seemed impossibly important to Dick that Damian knew that. His Robin had to know just how important he was to Dick. And if it was the last thing he did, Dick would make sure that Damian knew. Knew that hurting Damian was never an option.

“And you dying won’t hurt me? You going away won’t be the worst thing to happen to me? Me being hurt is so much better than you dying. I can take it. I will take it. But you… I need you to be okay. I need you, Richard. I need you so, so much. Isn’t that enough?”

It should be, shouldn’t it? But that was no longer in Dick’s hands. All he had left to do was wait. 

His body felt pretty numb now, with only a few tingles disturbing the peace. It was a bad sign, as was the air that only left his lungs in bursts but Damian didn’t have to know that. He probably knew anyways.

“I love you, kiddo… can you hold my hand?”

It felt pathetic to ask but Dick didn’t want to be alone when he died. He wanted an anchor, something to hold onto. And Damian’s small hand grasping, squeezing his, let hope surge through his veins. 

“Richard, I need you to say with me. Please, Richard. Richard!”

Oh. His eyes had closed. He pried them open again and panic was etched into Damian’s face. Pure, pure panic. Dick wanted to say something, to comfort him again, but no words left his mouth. Just a sigh escaped him.

He was so numb. So terribly numb.

His eyes closed again. He could feel Damian tighten his grasp on his hand, and he knew were he still alive, it would hurt. But he barely felt it.

There was buzzing in his ears. 

“Richard! Batman will be here soon! Just a little bit longer!”

Dick really hoped that Damian knew just how much he loved him. He hoped that Damian would remember him fondly. That his death wouldn’t destroy his kid. 

He really wished he could be there to watch Damian grow up. 

“I need you to stay, Richard. I… I love you, too. Richard. Please.”

He would give anything to protect that kid. Including his life.

And he did.


	24. Secret Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being Batman is hard. Being Batman and trying to raise Damian is even harder. Maybe that is why Dick just can't say no...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! ^^  
Day 24 and the love from you guys just keeps coming! I am blown away! You are all sooo sweet! <3  
I tried writing Cass for today's chapter but I am not sure if I succeeded!   
And maybe this is something more comforting than the last two chapters! ;)
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Injury

When Damian called for backup Dick had to make a choice. 

Robin had gone out with Black Bat tonight, while Dick, as Batman, took on his own investigation. 

Nothing too risky but Killer Croc had gotten a good slash in on Dick’s back. Normally Dick would just return to the Bunker and let Alfred stitch him up but now Damian had asked for assistance with their drug bust. 

So, now he had to make a decision. And how could he not just rush over to help Damian when this was the first time he had ever asked for it during patrol? If Dick said no now, Damian might never ask him for help ever again.

The slashes weren’t so bad. Mostly scratches, really. And the cape draped nicely over his shoulders protecting his back and keeping everyone else from taking a good look at it. A true win-win situation.

So it wasn't really a decision at all, was it? He told Damian Yes.

The first clue that his plan might have a few holes in it made itself clear when Dick grappled across the city. With each swing his back burned. He could feel blood dripping down to his legs. It was a truly disgusting feeling.

But he promised Damian. His little brother and sister were waiting for him and he wasn’t someone who kept people waiting or broke promises (except in front of the alter - wow, self-burn!).

It was Cass who greeted him at the rendezvous point. He nodded in greeting but even after turning around to look at him, Damian was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Robin?”

“Looking around”

“Good”

It always felt awkward trying to keep a conversation with Cass going. He liked her, really, he did, but they never had a true bonding experience. She was Steph's and Tim's Batgirl but never Dick’s. And he didn’t think she was too soft on him either. Tim had tried to explain it once, that while Cass could read every body, Dick just was too confusing to feel real to her. That Dick's body lied. He really didn't like the implications of that statement. 

So instead they talked about their siblings. At least most of the time. Not today, apparently.

“You’re hurt”

“Oh? Yes, I ran into a little skirmish on my way here. Nothing big.”

Her eyes, hidden away behind the frightening mask of Black Bat, burned through his skill. He was pretty sure she knew he was lying. But she probably didn’t know how much. And that was okay by Dick. He was here to help Damian and not to satisfy Cass’ curiosity. 

In that moment Robin came back from his scouting mission. The yellow of the cape flared dramatic in the single light of a streetlamp a short distance away. 

“Batman”

“Robin, report.”

“ -tt-, Black Bat and I scouted the building earlier this evening since rumors had taken to the street about a rather big drug trade taking place in that warehouse across the street. When we arrived however a much larger group of goons appeared to be involved than anticipated. Black Bat and I then decided to call you in for backup. I looked around and one of the side entrances is left relatively unprotected.”

“Good job. Both of you. And thank you for calling me in. It was the right thing to do”

Dick knew that he wasn’t imagining that faint blush that crept along Damian’s cheeks. Cass seemed pleased, too. Dick knew the importance of praise, and he also knew that these two craved it even worse than the rest of them. So Dick gave it. Freely. 

“Then let’s move in. Black Bat you go in first and make a perimeter check, Robin, I want you in the middle. I’ll take the rear. Send any big hitters in my direction. Okay?”

Damian nodded enthusiastically while Cass seemed to… hesitate for a moment. But Dick had no time for that, so he gave them the sign to move forward. And they did like the trained professionals they were.

If any of them noticed how Batman was just a bit behind, how Batman was maybe a bit slower than usual, nobody said anything. 

The slashes on his back were burning now with a passion. It was distracting. And made him prone to mistakes. But Dick was not gonna think about that.

In front of him Cass crashed through a window next to the entrance. This operation wasn’t one of subtlety. None of the big name players were involved and the only surprise was the number of crooks participating. Everyone knew how the Bats tended to favor the dramatics. 

And very few things scared those like a Bat crashing through a window.

Damian went in after Cass when Dick started to hear the sounds of fighting. One or two of the goons had guns and were apparently dumb enough to use them in close quarters. Dick was pretty sure that neither Robin or Black Bat would be in danger from a stray bullet but their opponents were likely to fall to friendly fire. 

With a slightly too elegant jump for the Batman, Dick entered the scene. It was a mess. Roughly twenty men (and some women) were scattered over the floor of the honestly quite small warehouse. Between them a crate full of what Dick presumed to be drugs. 

Cass was locked in combat with three crooks, kicking and flipping like there would be no tomorrow. It looked like a dance. In that moment Dick was jealous of her - not of her shitty life prior to finding Batman - but for her freedom of fighting how she wanted to. Dick’s wings had been clipped by the cowl and the cape and a child, he hadn’t wanted but loved more with each day anyway. 

Dick was a person bound by gravity now. And in moments like these he regretted it dearly. 

Damian was on the other side of the warehouse, having pulled his sword - the one with the dulled blade. Dick wasn’t worried about him. It had been three months since Damian last hurt someone permanently during a fight. 

Instead Dick focused on the guys coming for him. The heavy hitters, just as he had asked for.

At first it went well. Dick channeled his inner Batman and took them out via heavy kicks to the stomach or a left hook to the face, but soon his back was throbbing and every twist to evade being hit send spikes of pure torture though his body. 

But Batman kept on fighting. Batman kept on spinning and twisting and body slamming every crook that looked in his direction. It was a simple moment of being distracted by a yell from the other side of the room that marked his descent into hell. 

One of the guys he was fighting - one of the only ones still standing without having fled the battle - got a lucky hit in on his back. Normally the cape would absorb most of the force but the guy must have hit one of the few weakened areas of it because Dick felt the power the punch packed. Unfortunately.

He screamed when the tender flesh, the ripped skin of his back was even further compromised. For a moment everything around him flashed white and when the warehouse came back into focus, he was lying on the floor. 

The crooks around him had no such laps in attention, no, they started kicking him immediately. It was nothing Dick couldn’t normally deal with but he laid sprawled on his stomach, which each kick being aimed at the bloody mess that was his back.

After a while he just stopped moving, hopping against all hope that they would move on when their opponent stopped resisting. No such luck. But something else happened that send relief through Dick’s muddled brain: He could hear the furious decent of Damian (and probably Cass too).

But at this point the world had started to become distant. You could only get hit oh so often on a open wound before pain became a backdrop and reality something to despise. 

It took too much effort to open his eyes far enough to see Cass breaking a goons nose with the heel of her boot. To his left someone screamed and Dick could safely assume that they had met Damian’s blade. They were doing great. Dick had to remember telling them later.

He blinked and when he opened his eyes again, the battle was over. Damian and Cass were standing next to each other, tying up the last of the crooks, their breathing slightly erratic as if they just finished a slightly demanding work out. Well, it was one, if Dick thought about it. 

After that, he didn’t think of much, because Damian crouched next to him, and while trying to turn him over, his hands pressed into the abused flesh of Dick’s back. He might have cried out in pain but the world was too sharp and too far away at the same time for him to be sure. 

“Batman! Batman, answer me!”

Dick wanted to, really. But right now his only clear thought was directed towards not passing out from the pain. He took a deep breath. And another. 

And which each one the world stopped spinning and Damian’s worried face came back into focus. 

“Batman!”

“Hey… Lil’ D…”

“No names in the field!”

Dick hummed. Maybe it would be okay if he closed his eyes again. But before he could do so, Cass had taken a seat next to him and Damian, pinching the exposed skin on his neck when his eyes closed. They shot open again. 

“No sleeping until Cave”

“Black Bat is right, Batman. And why didn’t you tell us you were this injured?”

“Not that… bad…”

His position on his stomach made sure that barely enough air made it’s way into his lungs. But turning around wasn’t an option. Especially not with how much the slashes and cuts hurt even without the extra pressure on them. He must have lost at least a pint of blood. That would explain the wooziness at least. 

“ -tt-, not that bad? Your back is a mess. Al- Penny-One is going to have a field day with this!”

Dick decided to ignore Damian for once. 

“Bunker… how?”

“Called the car”

“Good”

Talking was exhausting. But it was also the only thing keeping him awake. 

“Gordon?”

“On his way, but we asked for a delay so we’d be able to extract you from the scene. Which wouldn’t be necessary if you hadn’t been so foolish”

“Yeah… sorry, kiddo”

Damian huffed and puffed next to him but did nothing to outwardly reject the pet name. It was Cass who patted his head and told him to look after himself more. It was actually quite nice to lay between his allies and know that they cared for him. Even if he wouldn’t go around and get cut up again just for this to happen. He had to find another way to bond with both of them. Maybe a movie night. They could invite Steph, too.

His eyes fluttered closed again. But this time no one stopped him. In the distance, Dick thought he could hear the Batmobile.

“Batman?”

“Hm?”

“I accept that it is not my job as Robin to punish you for your idiotic behavior.”

“Well, thanks?”

“So, I took it upon myself to inform Agent A about the act that led up to your current disposition. You should expect him quite displeased with you back at the Bunker.”

Dick had always known that the day Damian realized who his allies were, would be a dangerous one. He would just have wished not to be at the receiving end. Next to him Cass laughed. It was a sweet sound. One heard too seldom. But wasn’t that the case with the whole family?

“Hn… just because i might… deserve it…”

Shutting up would be the pain-free option. The logical one. And for once in his life Dick followed logic. He shut up.

Cass and Damian perked up:

“The Batmobile is here!”

The kids were working together, helping Dick, and Dick letting them. When the motor of the Batmobile started purring and the motion lurched through his bloody and beaten body, Dick finally relaxed.

Maybe the night hadn’t ended like he wanted it to, but he was the only one hurt and his kid and his sister were alright. Everything else was a problem for Future Dick.

Present Dick just let himself go to sleep. He had earned it.


	25. Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is 15 and might just have learned that there is one thing even worse than the most cruel criminal: Teenagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! ^^  
Chapter 25 and only 6 more days to go!!! WE ARE DOING THIS!!!  
And would you believe that I wrote already over 50.000 words in this moth alone? NaNoWriMo who? I know only of Whumptober 2019!  
All of that thanks to your lovely comments and kudos and bookmarks! I love you, guys! <3
> 
> Please be aware that this chapter is disturbing since Teenagers are the Most Fucked Up People out there and that the comfort in this fic is hard earned!
> 
> Warning: Public Humiliation, Assault, Non-Consensual Distribution of Sexual Media, Teenagers Being The Worst Teenagers Can Be

In a way one of the worst memories of his teenage years had nothing to do with crime fighting. 

It had everything to do with teenagers being assholes and the power of shame. It had everything to do with Dick being 15 and a part of the mathletes. 

It had everything to do with Dick having to stick his nose in everything, no matter if he wore the scaly pants or not. 

The story began with Dick confronting a bully, Matthew Penthurst, about something he said to another mathlete. Nothing big or unusual but Dick had had enough. 

Being a bit nerdy had never been a problem until Matthew transferred to Gotham Academy shortly before Christmas during sophomore year. And suddenly everyone made fun of them and even people Dick had been friends with, grinned or made dumb jokes when it came up.

He hated it. Nobody made fun of him being in the gymnastic team but everyone thought it funny to call him a virgin because he liked math and competition and wasn’t allowed to compete in gymnastics on a higher level than regionales because of his ‘secret identity’. It was unfair. And annoying. And Dick wouldn't stand for that.

He didn’t even get the brunt of the bullying. No, Dick was popular by comparison. He was still Bruce Wayne’s ward after all. And funny. And conventionally attractive (if scrawny). No, the other kids had it so much worse.

Their cars got egged, they got name called, they got harassed. And the school administration did nothing because Matthew’s dad was a governor. A rich governor who paid for the new school library. 

So, of course Dick had to take the matter in his own hands. He wasn’t a coward after all. He fought crime each night, he should be able to handle a schoolyard bully.

He wasn’t.

It began innocent enough. Dick asked Penthurst if they could talk in private after school and the bully agreed. Dick had a folder with evidence collected from various bullying incidents and wanted to present them to Penthurst. Not to snitch on him, no, but to blackmail him into laying off the kids, whose life he relentlessly turned into hell. 

When the boy himself showed up, Dick was a tiny bit nervous. Normally he and Batman stopped blackmail but Dick had seen no other way out. Snitching would only make Matthew and his friends hate him, revenge would be inevitable.

“What you want, Grayson”

Matthew tried to make his voice sound deeper and suddenly Dick was very aware of the fact that a teenager was standing in front of him. He had to stifle a laugh. Penthurst was taller than him - no surprise there - and maybe a year older. He looked like the cliche of a 16-year old boy: Frosted tips in his hair, slacks a number too big, the sleeves of his button up rolled up. 

“I wanted to ask you something, Matthew. Can I call you Matthew?”

“Speak or fuck off, Grayson”

“Okay”

Dick held his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. He didn’t need to aggravate Matthew more than necessary. 

“I’m not happy with how you treat your fellow classmates and the mathlete team in particular. I would really welcome it if you would stop.”

To say that Dick was surprised when Matthew laughed in his face would be a lie. 

“Yeah, no, Dickface. If that’s all I would like to go.”

“That’s not all. I have this CD with enough evidence that even you should get expelled for bullying. And with Bruce Wayne backing me up, not even your father should be able to do something. But we don’t want it to come to that, do we? Lay of the mathlete kids and this CD never has to see the daylight again.”

Nausea pooled in Dick’s stomach. He didn’t know if he enjoyed the power or if it disgusted him. He never wanted to find out. He wanted this to be over, so he could move on. He wanted this to be over so he never had to do it again.

Matthew didn’t laugh anymore. Instead his face had a dark and twisted look. He reminded Dick of the villains he faced each night. A shiver crawled down his spine. And then Matthew nodded:

“Okay. But this will have consequences”

And with that Dick was alone behind the gym. He tried his best to forget everything about it on his way to Alfred. The man had waited long enough after all.

It came back to haunt him several days later. The bullying situation had eased up. Dick had seen Nathalie smile for the first time in what seemed like months during their last practice and Josh had finally asked Dick to help him finalize his secret mathletes handshake. It had been great. 

And then Matthew had cornered him in a hallway and ‘asked’ for a private meeting after school. Dick had a bad feeling.

His feeling proved to be right.

Because it was not only Matthew that greeted him behind the school, no, it was Matthew and five of his goons and as soon as Dick showed his face two of them - the largest, football team - grabbed his arms and forced him on the floor. It took all his self-control to not just crush them with his fighting abilities. 

“What the Fuck? What are you doing?”

Matthew was standing in front of him now while the rest of his followers joined the two holding Dick down. He didn’t like were this was going. He really, really didn’t. In his panic he pulled too hard on one of his arms, disturbing the balance of one of the guys holding him down and freeing himself. But before Dick could so anything further, someone else had already grabbed his arm.

“Now, little Dickiebird, I don’t react well to other people implying they have power over me, so I am going to make sure you know exactly were your place in this school is. And were my place regarding you is. A little demonstration is in place, don't you think?”

This was bad. Fuck. 

Dick started to struggle for real. Bruce had to forgive him for this. He had to. Dick couldn’t bear the thought off… One of the guys was in front of him now, really, really close. All Dick could do was watch as the guy reached down, opened Dick’s slacks and pulled them, together with his underwear, down. The guilty expression on that guys face made it all so much worse.

How was Dick supposed to react? All he could do was feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment, while desperately trying to find a position which allowed him to protect himself. 

“You know, you look almost pretty all red like that.”

Matthew was kneeling in front of him now, way too close. Why were they all so close? Against Dick’s better judgement tears started to spill down his cheeks. He was so angry. He was so scared. He felt everything right now. And none of it helped. It didn’t get any better when Matthew whipped out his phone. And took photos.

“No. Don’t do that, Matthew. That is illegal child pornography. You could go to jail for this!”

Dick was pleading with him. God, he wanted to throw up. Especially when all Matthew did was laugh. This was a nightmare. Please, just let this be a nightmare. 

“‘Child pornography’? Hah! Which child, Dickiebird? And who is gonna tell them? You? And let it slip that you tried to blackmail the son of governor Penthurst? But that isn’t becoming of prodigal ward of Bruce Wayne. Especially when they find out that you harassed me into bullying all your friends on the mathlete team. You even wanted evidence to make sure I did it. You like how powerful it makes you feel. Such a naughty boy,”

Ice flooded his veins. This couldn’t be happening. Please. And nobody had moved yet to help him cover himself. He was naked, embarrassed, humiliated, and in a situation his head couldn’t comprehend. 

Matthew slapped him. The unexpected force send his head spinning and cleared his mind. At least a little bit. 

“I’m wondering if we are clear on that, Dickiebird.”

“Y-Yes…”

“Good”

The smile on Matthews lips should probably appear benevolent but only send even more shivers down Dick’s spine. His goons were still holding Dick down and only now was Dick realizing that he had stopped struggling, frozen in his panic and fear. He could feel the blush creep down his neck. Especially when Matthew patted his cheeks like those of a child. Or a dog. Dick wasn’t sure what would be worse.

“And because I am a nice guy, I’ll even stop playing with your little friends on the mathlete team, yeah?”

Dick nodded out of fear what would happen, if he didn’t but he wasn’t really processing all that much. His brain was too caught up in the realness of his nakedness, in the blush on his cheeks, in the surrealism of this situation.

“Because I have found a much better toy now, haven’t I?”

“What?”

The grin on Matthew’s face, on the face of all the guys around him, made bile rise up in his throat. No. Whatever came next, no.

“You, of course, little Dickiebird. But you have to agree first!”

They were all laughing. And laughing. And Dick could once again feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks. He didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to agree to anything. But what should he do? They wouldn’t let him go, his muscles were jello, and fighting back verbally was the thing that had gotten him in this situation.

So, he nodded. 

And Matthew only leered at him:

“Full sentences, pretty boy!”

No, no, no, no, no…

“Okay…”

“’Okay’ what?”

“Okay, I’ll be your… t… toy now”

Why did they all have to laugh? Dick wanted his clothes back. He wanted his dignity back. He wanted for all of this to be over. 

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Matthew sounded almost nice but it made Dick fear him even more. Especially when all of the other boys backed up, except the two holding him. Matthew was still in front of him, playing with his belt buckle like the macho he was. 

No.

“What…? What are you doing?”

“Giving you a little present!”

And with that the two guys by his side let go. If only his legs would allow him to run. If only his body would stop shaking in fear and start defending itself. If only… but too late.

Matthew had opened up his fly and pissed on him. 

Someone was actually pissing on him. Dick could feel the hot liquid soak his school uniform, could feel it drip down on the exposed space between his legs.

For a moment Dick just stopped working. His mind was so overwhelmed by all of this that the world didn’t matter for a blissful few seconds. When everything came back into focus, he was alone in his soiled school uniform behind the school, on his knees. He was crying, a distorted voice in his head commented. He was sobbing, actually. 

And now he had to get up and go to the front and explain this mess to Alfred somehow. He had to… he had to start moving again. 

Step 1, putting his pants back on.

His hands shook and the second they touched the wet fabric everything inside him recoiled. He was barely fast enough to turn sideways before he lost his lunch into the grass. Just something to make this even more disgusting. 

But after a bit of a struggle - and the underlying threat of retching again and again - Dick managed to pull his slacks back on. 

Step 2, get up and use the gym showers to clean up. 

Getting up turned out to be harder than anticipated. Just trying to right himself send spells of dizziness through him and the world spun around him when he finally stood. But he did it. And he managed to sneak into the gym showers before any of the teachers saw him.

Step 3, call Alfred and tell him something came up.

Dick reached the showers, but before he allowed himself to clean up, he called Alfred. He had kept the man waiting for far too long, anyways.

“Master Dick? Where are you?”

“Hi, Al. I… Something came up. I’ll make my own way home. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“What? Master Di-”

“Bye!”

And with that he ended the call. He couldn’t get under the water fast enough. He shed all his clothing, only hesitating once when it came to his underwear, but decided that he would rather be clean right now than clothed. 

He stood under the spray of the hot water until it ran cold. He had taken the dirty and soiled uniform with him in the shower, hoping it would clean it at least somewhat but Dick could barely look at the clothes without his stomach turning again. 

Instead he searched for some left behind gym clothes and changed into them. It was a relief to no longer be dressed in the disgusting uniform Matthew had left him with. But it didn’t make the shame and humiliation pooling in his stomach any easier to bear.

Step 5, receive a disappointed SMS from your guardian.

Dick’s phone chimed. When he looked at it, Bruce had written him a message:

‘I can’t believe you talked to Alfred like this. We will talk when I am back from my business trip but consider yourself grounded and benched for at least two weeks”

Dick could deal with that. Dick could deal with anything right now besides having to pick of his wet uniform and smuggle it into Wayne Manor. Dick could deal with anything except having to see Matthew again.

The next two weeks showed Dick what hell on earth felt like. Bruce was mostly on business and played the disappointed guardian card whenever they did spend time together, Alfred was distant and cool, and Matthew kept his promise.

Both of them.

He ignored Nathalie and Josh and Ranjid and Morgan. He didn’t ignore Dick.

Though the bullying Dick faced was less public and more focused on the humiliation he could bring Dick by standing too close, by making pointed remarks about Dick pissing himself, by touching Dick’s cheek and threatening him with the pictures if Dick even dared to flinch.

Dick had stopped eating and sleeping and some part of him was relieved that he wasn’t allowed to go on patrol because his body couldn’t manage any extra exertion. Another part of him thought that Bruce might finally realize something was wrong if Dick just broke down during Batman and Robin time. But that was wishful thinking. Instead Dick hoped to just survive the next few months and then get some relief during vacation when he would be away with the Titans. 

But of course nothing in his life would be so simple. So easy. So pain free.

It was almost exactly two weeks after that afternoon that still haunted Dick’s dreams, when one of Matthew’s crooks released the picture. Or better an edited version of the picture, with the goons photo-shopped out of it.

Instead you could see a kneeling Dick, with his dick out, flushed red cheeks, and shiny wet eyes. It looked like he had just gotten fucked. 

Dick wanted to throw up, to hide in a hole, to stop existing. He wanted for this to be over. He wanted to die - but only a little bit. But most importantly he wanted for people to stop looking. 

Everyone had seen the picture, everyone laughed when they saw him in the hallways. And Dick poured every ounce of his performers soul into surviving the humiliation and shame that came with each stare.

He held his head high, he looked everyone in the eyes, he answered questions in class but never the yelled ones in the hallways. Back straight, head clear, and forward, forward, forward. 

No matter how much he wanted to cry, no matter how much he wanted to beat Matthew into a bloody pulp, he just kept going.

And it worked. For the most part. The end of the school day came and Dick felt as if the Joker has just gotten his hands on him. He wanted home and a hot shower to wash the stench of shame from his person. 

He wanted to be Dick Grayson again. The mathlete, gymnast, charming boy who dazzled people with his smile. He wanted to be himself again.

The car ride with Alfred was silent - as they currently tended to be - and Dick was thankful. One well-intentioned question from Alfred regarding his well-being and Dick would break. The performance would be over. And Dick wasn’t ready for that.

When they finally reached the Manor Dick jumped out of the car before the motor cooled down. He was through the doors and on his way to his room, when Bruce’s voice stopped him.

“Dick? Can you come down here.”

It wasn’t a request. Dick went back downstairs, each step filling him up with lead. Each step making the nausea even more unbearable. Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. A frown was etched deep into his face.

“Yeah? Can you hurry up, I have homework”

Bruce looked at him with the gaze of a father who knew that no son of his would ever hurry just to get to do homework. It felt weirdly intimate. 

“Come here. I need to show you something”

Please not. Please not that picture. 

But Dick stepped closer nonetheless. He was really ready to throw up now. When he reached the seat besides Bruce, he stopped. Closer but not too close. 

“I want to know if you know where this came from? The administration office of your school send me this a few hours ago.”

With that Bruce turned the laptop and once again Dick was confronted with the shame etched into that afternoon, in that picture. With the self-hatred just the existence of this picture forced him to feel. 

His mask broke. The performance was over. Finally. Tears spilled over, he dry heaved, completely forgetting that he hadn’t eaten enough to successfully throw up. His knees gave out under him and once again he was kneeling on the floor, crying of humiliation.

Bruce had seen the picture. Bruce. His guardian. His father. His family. 

Dick’s sobs grew only louder, his shoulders shaking, his body shuttering to gasp for air. And then two strong arms encircled him, hugged him close against the broad chest of the caped crusader. Bruce slowly rubbed circles on Dick’s back, never once letting go, never once stopping.

“Shh, it’s alright. Whatever it is, we will take care of it and it will turn out okay. Shh, let it all out. I am here. I’m not going anywhere. Everything’s alright. I am here. Shh.”

And after a while Dick started to believe him. After a while the sobs ceased, only leaving stray tears behind. After a while Dick was able to relax his iron grip on Bruce, a grip he had’t even known he had. But he didn’t break the hug. He didn’t get up or look into Bruce’s eyes. He stayed safe in the arms of his dad. 

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Dick wanted to say no and he knew that Bruce would let him. But that wouldn’t be right. Dick had to get it of his chest. Dick had to be able to breath again.

“A few weeks ago, I… I told a bully to stop going after my friends, but I did it with some blackmail I collected and when that didn’t work… he… his friends and he… they… they forced me on the floor and un… un…”

The tears were back and Dick could guess that Bruce was ready to call this off, to give Dick space he didn’t want. Instead Dick forced himself to keep going:

“They undressed me… and then they threatened me… that they had the power and evidence to turn this… this… fucked up mess against me… and they took pictures… and… and… I couldn’t do anything… I didn’t even struggle after a while… and… and they laughed, Bruce, why did they laugh?”

Bruce was pressing him against his chest and Dick could hear how fast Bruce’s heart was beating, how angry his guardian was and how much he held back in the sake of Dick.

“Chum, it’s alright. You don’t have to talk anymore. We’re gonna get this fixed. It’s alright”

“No, it’s really not”

“You’re right, it’s not. But we’re Batman and Robin, chum. There is nothing we can’t make alright. There is nothing we can’t fix”

Dick felt as if he was only made out of tears at this point. He pressed his face against the soft sweater Bruce wore and hoped that he could stay in this embrace forever. He never wanted to leave ever again. He didn’t want to have to face the world again. He didn’t want to have to face Matthew again.

“They… they… pissed on me. I was laying on the floor… crying… half naked and they… pissed on me. How fucked up is that? Why do people do something like that… why did they… why?”

“I don’t know, chum. But I will do whatever it takes to make it right again. I will hunt those bastards down, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman if I must, but I will. Because you know what?”

“What?”

“Because nobody hurts my son”

Dick hugged Bruce a little tighter. It would have to be enough. 

And Dick was sure that it would be just that: Enough.


	26. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They left him behind. His family, the circus, they had just abandoned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! ^^  
Another Day, another chapter!  
Thank you guys for the lovely comments! Special shout out to @barryallen_flarrow and @Jinmukang! You guys keep me running! <3  
This is written a bit differently because of character choice (and poetic reasons) but I hope you guys still like it! ^^  
This can also be read as a prequel to Chapter 14 Tear-Stained! (No prior knowledge needed)
> 
> Warning: Abandonment Issues, Violence, Abuse, Past-Trauma

He was alone.

Well, not really. There were kids all around him, mostly older, but he was still alone. Lonely. Left behind. They had abandoned him. His family. His people. His home.

All of them had just left him here.

After his parents fell. And fell. And fell. And fell. And crashed. Blood. Everywhere.

After the nice police officer told him to come with him.

After Mr. Haly hugged him goodbye, promising him that they would see each other soon (promising but never coming).

After Madame Sabrina told him he had to be strong (but her not being there to be strong with him).

After being told that he was a trouble maker for not understanding everything they said about him, because his family came from the circus, because his skin was tinted darker than theirs.

After being put in this place. In this place of hurting children who hurt others.

After being alone for two weeks, Dick wanted only to sleep.

The other kids were loud and mean. He had to share his room with two other boys, both older, almost ancient. They had to be at least 14. And both of them hadn’t just lost their parents.

They didn’t understand (or wanted to understand) when Dick cried himself to sleep at night. They didn’t get that him missing his mom’s _pirogo_ was different from them missing their favorite corner store cake. They didn’t get that his people left him, his family, a family that was bigger than just his mom and dad, a family that consisted of everyone living at Haly’s.

They didn’t understand that it physically hurt him not to be moving anymore.

Everything about his life had been movement up to this point. Life on the road, life in the air, life in their tiny family trailer. A Grayson that didn’t move was a dead Grayson.

Like his parents. Like their lifeless forms. Like their twisted bodies in the sand. Like the blood soaking through his leotard. Like…

Stop! He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He had promised himself that. Especially when a part of him was way too hopeful when it asked what him not moving meant for his future.

It had taken days to finally get the hang of this place, this Detention Center, as they called it. It was huge, and there were guards that looked like police officers, but they hurt you.

Dick found out pretty quickly that the best way to avoid conflict was by being really, really silent. It worked with the guards, who called him bad words, and with the older kids, who wanted to beat people up. It worked in making himself forget who he was.

The food tasted like nothing but that was okay, Dick hadn’t had any appetite since that night (Bodies. Falling. Screaming) anyways.

He did everything he could to avoid attracting attention. And it worked until it didn’t. Because he could control what he was doing when he was awake. But at night, sleeping alone? (for the first time in his life. He had shared a bunk with mom and dad back at Haly’s) The nightmares came. And with them the tears, the screaming, the clawing his own skin off.

His cellmates didn’t like it. They hit him sometimes when they thought he was being obnoxious. It didn’t hurt. Dick was no longer sure if he could feel physical pain because his insides were constantly screaming.

He wished he was allowed to scream out loud too. He wanted to.

He wanted to scream and trash and hurt everyone. And himself.

He wanted his mom and dad. He wanted Haly’s.

He wanted so much.

That’s why it hurt so much when they left him behind.

Nobody had come for him and Dick had been so sure. So, so sure. Because they were his family. Because you didn’t just abandon your family, your kids. And Dick was a circus kid. Dick was one of them.

And they left him.

Sometimes he wondered if there would be a time when it stopped hurting. If there would be a time where sleep was something to look forward to for other reasons than to be finally allowed to scream. If there would be a time where he could dream again.

Dick just wanted to go home.

But there was no home left for him to go to.

And with each day something of Dick Grayson bleed away. With each day he became something less. And with each day he stopped caring. Caring what might be in his future, caring what his family was doing, caring if he survived.

It was nearing three months in the Detention Center when one of the guards approached him:

“Grayson? Someone is waiting for you”

And they took him to one of these rooms the boys with family went in on Saturdays.

Had his family finally returned? Was he allowed to go home? Was Haly finally here to collect their lost sheep? Was he allowed to be a kid again not a tiny adult in a prison for victims?

But it wasn’t his family sitting in the room. It was the man form that night (Screams. A Thud. Red. A Hand Forcing Him To Look Away).

Dick just stared at him. What was he supposed to do? What was the man doing? Dick didn’t want to be here.

But he still shook that man’s hand when he showed it to Dick. You had to be polite to the guards or they hit you. Who said that man would be different.

“Hello, Richard. I am Bruce Wayne. Do you know who I am?”

Dick barely nodded. It must have lacked in conviction because Mr. Wayne explained anyway:

“I was there the night your parents died. I… I lost my parents in a similar fashion when I was your age, so I understand-”

He didn’t understand. His parents might have died but had his family left? Had he been abandoned? Had he been left behind?

But Dick voiced none of his thoughts. Instead he kept staring at Mr. Wayne. What did this strange man expect form him?

“And I wanted to ask you, if you wanted to come and live with me. It is completely up to you, but it would make me really happy”

All Dick could do was stare. Stare at this strange man and his even stranger words. Stare at the future that happened outside of this horrible place. Stared at the possibility of finally being allowed to vend.

“Just… I understand if you don’t want to talk. Just take my hand if you want this.”

Did he?

Well, it had to be better than this place.

Dick took the hand. Dick took this new future. Not by choice, but by his own form of necessity:

Dick Grayson was a Flying Grayson. And it was time that he started moving again. Flying again.

It was time for Robin to take the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear some things up: Dick is an extremely unreliable narrator in this. He is 9, just lost his parents and family and has no idea how the legal system works. He doesn't understand that his family is not allowed to take him or see him.


	27. Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick hated being Batman but sometimes it was so much worse just being Dick Grayson. And Damian Wayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! ^^  
Another chapter! 27! WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT WE'D GET THIS FAR???  
All thanks to you guys! <3  
Please be gentle with the spelling mistakes in this one. I was a bit short on time! ^^  
And have fun!
> 
> Warnings: Non-Consensual Drugging, Violence

Dick hated being Batman but what he hated even more was being the current acting head of Wayne Enterprises. 

He just wasn’t built for it. Board meetings made him want to snap peoples heads off and small talk about business venues slowly killed his soul. He needed movement, action. Not just the Batman and Robin kind of action, but the kind of action Dick had always searched for in his earlier endeavors of working: As a gymnastics teacher, or a cop, or even as a bartender. There had always been a part of dynamic movement involved.

And now he was stuck wearing stuffy suits and horrible, insincere smiles. He really didn’t need to know what his life would have looked like if he managed to finish his business degree. What it looked like now, anyways.

There were good parts of all of this too (wasn’t that horrible to say? His father had died). He lived in a fancy penthouse apartment for one, if only because Lucius told him that anything less would be undignified for the head of WE. He had a wonderful kid to take care of, if only because their shared parent was dead (Dead. Gone. Forever). He was talking to Barbara again, if only because most of the others had left. 

Okay, who was he kidding. Life was a bit hard right now. 

He was 24, his second father had died half a year ago, two of his brothers didn’t talk to him as did his sister, he had taken on a burden he never wanted, and he was thinking about adopting the kid his dad had left behind. 

And he was the Head of Wayne Enterprises. 

Yeah, his life sucked. 

But that was neither the fault of the board members, nor Damian’s or Alfred’s or Barbara’s. It wasn’t even really his own. And that made being frustrated so incredibly hard. Because who was there to let it out on? The criminals of Gotham? They deserved fair treatment too. At least most of them. And beating up Scarecrow or Zsaz was more of a once every two months kind of special. Nothing to look forward to when someone asked him again why they should found the Gotham Foster Care System. 

Being an adult was fucking horrible. Maybe that was why Batman had gotten so dark and grim as he was. Bruce just channeled all his anger at racist and bigoted rich people in beating up the poor. 

(Okay. Unfair. Dick really needed to get a grip on these twisted thoughts)

Maybe that was why he had taken Damian with him to work today. The boy didn’t take well to school yet and with Alfred homeschooling him, it was easy to make time for him to come with Dick. The ultimate goal was to get Damian in a public school by the start of the next semester. Dick was hopeful, Damian less so. 

It was weird to have to think about stuff like this now. To have to think about making sure Damian ate healthy enough, to think about enforcing bedtime (even if it was a Robin bedtime), to play with the kid (”It is training, Grayson!”), and to spoil him sometimes. It was weird to think of himself as a Dad. Which was probably why he still persisted on calling Damian his little brother, no matter what his heart told him.

Had Bruce thought of Dick as his son so soon, too? 

Because Dick knew that later in life Bruce had seen him as his son, had called him that frequently. But early on? Dick just knew that he would have felt more secure in his role in the family if Bruce had adopted him earlier. But how early was too early? He didn’t want to rush Damian. He would never dare to.

But hey, as long as he could make every day Take Your Kid To Work Day at least something would be alright. It was immensely funny to see the looks his secretaries and employees (And he had employees now!) send his way when he moved through the front entrance trailed by a mad looking Damian. Most of them just didn’t know that that was the kids normal expression. 

Little did Dick know that today was one of the worst days he could have chosen to bring Damian in. 

It began innocently enough at the end of the work day. Damian had kept Dick thoroughly entertained by muttering insult in Arabic whenever one of the board members said something dumb. He had also given Dick a perfect excuse for leaving early for lunch and now dinner. Dick knew that Damian had had his fun too, seeing him sketch on the meeting room table and nap on the couch during the more boring hours. It felt nice, just existing next to each other. It felt like something they could do.

But they were leaving, when one of the men working on the front desk got up to ask Dick something:

“Mr Grayson? Can I talk to you for a second?”

Dick glanced down at Damian, saw the frown on his face, and decided to keep this short:

“But only if it doesn’t take long. Dami wants home and so do I. More complicated matters can be discussed tomorrow.”

“No, no. Nothing big, but... can we do this outside?”

Something was fishy but Dick let himself be led out of the building, Damian trailing behind him. A van delivering baked goods stood out front. Dick turned back towards the man, Jonathan Mess or something. 

“Yes, what’s the matter?”

“I am so sorry for the kid”

“Huh?”

Jonathan stood too close to Dick now, so that he had no time to react when a needle was pressed in his neck. He wanted to turn around, look for Damian, but strong arms grabbed him, and the world lost it’s focus, turning everything into a swirl of color until it went black.

The world came back in bits and pieces. First the purring sound of a motor way to close to Dick’s brain, then the smell of stale air, the ringing of a phone, the headache and the nausea of being drugged, the sound of erratic breathing next to him- Damian. It had to be Damian. But when Dick tried to turn around, not only did he make the nausea so much worse but he also realized that his hands, feet, and eyes were bound. He couldn’t move or see. But he could hear. And that did nothing to ease his concern for Damian.

“Lil’ D?”

His voice was hoarse and slurred but Dick hoped it would be enough. Enough to be heard by Damian and Damian alone. But if he did, Dick got no answer. So, he tried again, only for him to realize that, yes, there were people with them in the vehicle. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

The man was loud. And Dick’s drug ridden brain didn’t like that, so there was nothing he could do against the moan that escaped him. He also couldn't do anything against the kick that was directed at his stomach only moments later. But he did throw up. It was an unpleasant experience.

“Oh man, we have to clean that up later. Good job, K”

“What was I supposed to do? The asshat wasn’t supposed to wake up so soon. The kid is still sleeping!”

“Then give him another dose and shut up!”

No. Dick didn’t want to be unconscious again. He couldn’t collect information when he was knocked out. But K didn’t seem to care for Dick’s need for intel. He knelt next to Dick and once again a needle was pressed against his neck. Dick really hoped they had reduced the dosage, as to not accidentally overdose him.

But that was his last thought before the darkness claimed him again.

His next awakening was rougher than the first: A wall of nausea slammed into him, forcing him to gag and retch. His limbs were still bound, as were his eyes, but the idiots had been intelligent enough to let his mouth uncovered. The stench of bile made his headache only worse and Dick recognized the symptoms of a slight overdose. Just perfect.

Thinking was really hard right now, maybe that was why it took him so long to realize that he was no longer laying on the floor but sitting on a really uncomfortable chair, with his limbs bound behind it. That explained the lack of movement: They had reached their destination. 

Dick wished he could focus on the noises around him but his heartbeat was too loud in his ears. God, he felt miserable. 

And then he remembered that Damian had been with him. Fuck. He strained against his bonds but the only thing that achieved was aggravating his stomach even further. That and their captors realized he was awake. If the throwing up hadn’t already clued them in.

“Ah, Wayne heir is finally awake. Good to know!”

Dick wanted to respond, to spit in their faces - wherever they were - but before he could do any of that, his blindfold was ripped away. Even the dimm lighting of the room they were in was enough to send Dick’s head spiraling. Again.

But after a few moments he was finally coherent enough to take in his surroundings: He sat on a wooden chair in a room only lit by one lonely light bulb. Damian was bound and gagged in one corner and Dick strained to get a better look, to make sure his kid was alright, but one of the kidnappers blocked the way. There were three of them. In this room at least.

“How...? How is Damian? Did you hurt him? If you hurt him I am going to tear you apart!”

The words tumbled out of his mouth. He needed to get to Damian. He needed to get to his son. But his voice sounded rough and scratchy, not threatening at all. 

The kidnappers laughed. They concealed their identities with cheap animal masks, which might make it impossible to see their face, but still made sure that everyone saw just how fit they were. These guys were no amateurs. 

One of them, Dick bet it was the leader, stepped forward and grabbed Dick’s chin. It hurt but Dick forbade himself to wince. Instead he stared in the soulless eyes of the cat mask.

“Look, Princess, we don’t want to hurt you or your kid any worse than we have to, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t do it. How to make sure that doesn’t happen, you ask? Well, behave. Be a nice little princess and nobody has to be hurt. Okay?”

Dick nodded. He was a civilian right now. So was Damian. He couldn’t risk angering them any further. Gordon (both of them) and Batgirl would do their best to save them. Dick knew that. But he also needed to know how his kid was doing:

“Okay... but is Damian alright? Please?”

The leader motioned for the guy next to Damian to check for a pulse and, when a thumbs up came, Dick relaxed somewhat. Damian wasn’t safe yet but at least he was still breathing. That was all Dick could hope for right now.

“What do you want? I can tell Lucius to give you all the money...?”

The leader laughed once again. It was starting to unsettle Dick. As dangerous inexperienced gangsters were, as fearsome were the masters. 

“We don’t want money, little princess. Or we do, but we want so much more. But why don’t we tell this all of the involved parties.”

With that a forth crook, this one wearing a horse mask, came in, carrying a video camera and a microphone. This was a really bad situation and Dick feared that it would get even worse. 

It took only moments for all of the technical devices to be set up. The camera was directed at Dick, Damian being out of its field of vision. It was just Dick and Cat Mask in front of it.

The guy with the horse mask signaled the leader that it would be okay to start. Showtime, baby!

“Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen! We have gathered here tonight to make some demands. As you can see, I have the second Prince of Gotham with me tonight - rather unfortunate what happened to the first one, wasn’t it? - and I thought he would make my demands go down so much more smoothly.”

Dick couldn’t discern from the message just who was being addressed. It could be Commissioner Gorden or Lucius Fox or the entirety of Gotham City. Just what were these demands? 

In the corner of his eyes Dick could see Damian stir and hope surged through him. Maybe Damian had some sort of ace up his sleeve. But from the disoriented gaze with which Damian swept the room that was a useless hope. Nevertheless Dick was just happy to see that his kid was somewhat okay. That he was coherent at least. 

But that didn’t stop the kidnapper from talking:

“What we want? Easy. For Wayne Enterprises to stop all founding of the Batman and the Justice League. But what else to do with all this money? Don’t fear. Redirect it towards this-” A sign was held in front of the camera “bank account and if my top notch people tell me that you did what you had to in the next 24 hours, your little Prince might return home. If not...”

The leader turned around and with one swift motion slapped Dick. His head spun with the motion and he wanted to retch again. This would certainly bruise. It already hurt. A low moan escaped his mouth. Cat Mask rewarded that with another slap. Then they cut the feed.

It took way too long for Dick to gather his senses again and even longer for him to start comprehending whatever their kidnappers had just demanded. But when he did, he couldn’t help and realize just how royally fucked they were.

Wayne Enterprises had gotten a lot of flag for supporting Superheroes over the years, but it was still the one institution that founded almost 50% of the JL. They wouldn’t be able to deal with the fallout, especially since the Wayne Money focused almost entirely on rebuilding after an attack. The public wouldn’t stand for it either. They depended on the After Care project.

But that wasn’t the real problem... or even the only one. No, Dick himself was the only one who could completely stop the founding. Not even Lucius had the power to stop it. Only the Wayne heir. 

And with that Dick realized something else. Their kidnappers didn’t bet on the money from Wayne Enterprises. Or they did. But not in the way their ransom call had made it seem. No, they knew they wouldn’t be getting what they asked for. Instead they would get ginormous amounts of money while the rest of Gotham and its heroes tried to safe them, buying them time. But it wouldn’t be enough. The kidnappers would kill them and then blame the Justice League for refusing to cooperate. 

Even without meeting the demands of the ransom call the JL would suffer a great publicity debacle. 

But why was Damian here too? Well, to control him. And with a sinking feeling Dick realized that it worked. He would be the most complaisant of hostages if that meant they wouldn’t hurt Damian. 

Bad luck then that there would be no saving Damian since none of them were meant to survive. Dick was stuck. The world spun, his stomach heaved, and he had to safe his kid. 

Damian was awake now, struggling against their captors. Horse Mask went into the corner, roughly grabbing the child. 

“No! Don’t hurt him!”

Dick sounded pathetic to his own ears. But his breaking voice was all he had right now. His body was in no state to defend them and by the looks of it neither was Damian. All he could do was beg. Beg and hope one of them showed mercy. It was a feeble hope but it was all he had. 

Cat Mask took Damian from his goon and turned around to face Dick again. The man was grinning, Dick knew, even without being able to see his face. 

“Oh, this little boy?”

He held Damian with one arm, dangling him in front of Dick’s bound form. The kid was struggling and Dick could see murder in his eyes. Not that Dick was blaming him. He just hoped that Damian would be able to look him into the eyes when all of this was over. 

“Please don’t hurt him. You can do whatever you want with me, but please not my kid...”

“Your kid? I thought this one was Daddy Waynes directly. Taking every vermin in must run in the family. It certainly worked for you and that Todd boy. But let me make one thing clear: I run this ship. And you will behave. Because otherwise? Little Damian over here is going to meet his maker so much earlier than necessary.”

Dick wanted to spit in Cat Mask’s face, wanted to trash, and hate, and destroy but instead he just nodded. They wouldn’t let him barter for Damian’s life. They thought this kid to be dirt, just as they thought him and Jason dirt. Cassandra probably too. All of them who had not been born in the restrictive guidelines of white American upper class assholes. 

“Good. I like it when people understand me. We go back online in 24 hours and until then I want you to stay calm and make no trouble. You can keep an eye on your kid but anything else and we make sure he pays. Yes?”

Again Dick nodded, only to be roughly grabbed. First Dick thought they wanted a verbal answer from him but instead a cup of water was pressed against his lips. He hadn’t even realized how thirsty he had been. The water felt like heaven, cooling down his acid abused throat. 

But the relief didn’t stay for long. Before Dick could savor all of the wet goddess, a dirty finger was shoved in his mouth, closely followed by a disgusting rag. A gag. They were gagging him. For a moment Dick’s muscles tensed, ready to defend himself and to fight, but as if he was reading his thought Cat Mask held Damian in the air, a hand on his neck, clearly suffocating him. Dick forced himself to relax. Instead of fighting he helplessly watched as his boy was choked and then tossed in the corner of the room like a ragdoll. 

They had to get out of here. They had to get away.

But he was gagged and bound and coming down from all kind of drugs. Damian wasn’t that much better of. They were stuck. They had reached a dead end.

Either Barbara or Jim had to safe them. Without them? Game Over.

The next 24 hours bleed away like lead. Dick knew that he had slept some of it, at least probably, but it was hard to stay alert when his head felt like shit and his body ached horribly from the position he was bound in. 

He was hungry and thirsty and concerned for Damian. The kid had survived the choking and subsequent throwing, as it seemed, but as far as Dick could tell only one guy had taken it upon himself to give him water. 

No food. For both of them.

His only clue that the time was up, presented itself in the return of Cat Mask and the film equipment. For a moment Dick was relieved to be unable to see the kidnappers faces. He didn’t want to have to endure their sadistic grins besides their already sadistic actions. The man in question had positioned himself in front of Dick, staring at him while Dick kept his eyes on Damian.  
He wouldn’t miss them hurting his son this time.

“I hope you had a restful few hours because the next are going to decide your future! Get the cameras rolling! And the life stream! I want to Commissioner on the other end! Pronto!”

Everything was set up so fast, Dick’s brain lagged a few seconds behind. The Commissioner? So their ransom call was directed at Jim? Why not Lucius? Or...? There were too many variables for Dick to be able to tell what the hell was going on. 

Only moments later Horse Mask gave the sign for the leader to start:

“Welcome back! My dear viewers, Mr. Gordon, Mr. Fox! 24 hours have passed and I am happy to announce that quite a bit of money has reached our esteemed bank account! Yay!”

Dick could see Damian sag in relief. The boy probably thought that the worst would be over. But it wasn’t. Dick was sure of that. All of his calculations - faulty as they may be - had let him to believe that this nightmare wasn’t over yet. He just wished Damian didn’t have to endure it with him. His kid had been through enough. 

(Hadn’t they all?)

“But there is a little Nay to come! Because a little bird tweeted at me, that all this money isn’t from the JL deposit but from the private pockets of Mr. Grayson over here!”

“Because we can’t! Only Mr. Grayson is able to stop the founding! You have to-”

Lucius’ voice came through speakers Dick didn’t even realize existed. The man sounded distressed and once again Dick was reminded of the fact that so many of the people at Wayne Enterprises had watched him grow up. Lucius had known him when he was 9 and he still knew him 15 years later. As did Jim Gordon.

But before Dick could react any further to the voice of his trusted friend, all air left his lungs. Cat Mask had kicked him in the stomach and again Dick retched. But this time the gag stopped his attempts and his empty stomach produced only acid. It burned in his throat and for a painful few moments he was choking, unable to get new air in his lungs. 

He came back to hear Lucius and Jim yelling, and Damian straining against his bindings. But to no avail. Neither of them.

Cat Mask took a step back, grabbing Dick’s hair, forcing him to look in the camera. There was pure un-adultered glee in his voice when he spoke next:

“Now, calm down. I am no unjust monster. I am not happy and I will take what I can get, but I want the world to know that it was the Justice League that let Gotham’s princes die.”

Now Dick started to strain against his gag too. He wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t let his child die. Nobody in this room would be allowed to touch Damian. Maybe he had been too placid the whole time. Maybe he should have fought harder in the beginning - drugged out of his mind as he had been - but he would definitely fight now. 

Nobody touched his son.

“Princes?”

“Oh, you haven’t met our special guest yet!”

With those words Horse Mask grabbed Damian and held him in front of the camera. It was shocking what the better quality lighting did to Damian: Suddenly all Dick could see was the dirt and the misery staining the ten-year old. It scared him how feeble Damian struggled. His boy was a fighter. To the death. And now? Now he barely wiggled when one of their kidnappers raised him like a prize. Dick wanted to be sick yet again.

Both men on the other side of the camera started yelling again, but Dick was too focused on his son to hear them out. Only small parts actually managed to pierce the panic that started to built up by the mere thought of not making it out of here alive.

“You have a-?”

“- Sick Fuck! You better-”

“- he hurt?”

“What do you want?”

“I told you what I wanted. You didn’t deliver. Two uninvolved young man will now suffer because the JL wouldn’t pull through, too sure of their power and wealth. One of these is a child, only ten. And you let him die. But as I said, I am not a monster”

He needed to get out of these bounds. He needed to get out. He needed to free Damian and get him as far away of these bastards as possible. He promised himself that Damian would have a better childhood. He promised Bruce to look after his son. Hell, he promised the world that he would be a father to Damian.

And now he couldn’t get free. Now he was stuck and lost and unable to safe his son.

Now he was powerless. 

“You will get a tip. In another 24 hours an anonymous source will leave a location at the GCPD. If you’re very lucky they’re still alive. Very lucky indeed. And remember: We were the merciful. The Justice League let them die.”

The camera feed cut out before either Lucius or Jim could answer. Dick wasn’t sure if he would have wanted them to. Nothing they would have said would have made this situation any better. 

With the camera down and Dick and Damian at the hands of these psychopathic kidnappers, Cat Mask turned around clapped his hands twice and motioned his goons into action:

“Let’s pack them up! Be ready to leave in 20! And congratulations!”

No! They... they... Dick wasn’t ready. No. He had to... but Damian! His kid! His son!

“Oh, and when we leave them make sure to place them close to each other. Wouldn’t want to keep the trash prince far from his trash son!”

Horse Mask came close to Dick and he wanted to move but was unable to do so. Instead he felt the pinprick of a needle and then... a hand untying him... Damian on the floor next to him... movement... loud voices... shallow breaths... his or Damian’s?... the floor... darkness... cold... cold... co...

“I FOUND THEM! HELP! FAST!”

cold...


	28. Waterlogged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting stranded had not been Dick's plan but it was his reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! ^^  
Here we are again with yet another chapter!  
So many thanks to all of you who commented and send their love my way! YOU ARE THE BEST! <3  
Keep up the good work! ;)
> 
> Warnings: Delirium

Getting stranded on his way to a nice and relaxing vacation in New Zealand, hadn’t really been Dick’s plan for the holidays. And yet here he was, kicking water while desperately clinging to the slightly banged up lifeboat. 

Everything was wet and slippery and Dick had to wait for his arms to stop shaking before he could even imagine to climb up and into the live saving boat. And that meant getting wet. Or more accurately staying wet.

At least no one else had been affected by the crash. Dick had flown the small plane himself, wanting to reach the Wayne Private Airport in Wellington this evening. But then something hit the engine of the small aircraft, making it tumble. And before Dick had any chance to correct the plane something else had struck, making Dick lose the fight against gravity.

Things had gone blurry after that, but Dick remembered getting up and grabbing the emergency kit before opening the door. When things became clear again, the plane was gone and Dick had been floating next to the lifeboat.

The problem was, he had to manage to get into the boat soon because while the weather wasn’t freezing, it was still fall in the southern hemisphere. And Dick was starting to bleed all of his body warmth into the ocean. 

If he was lucky, the lifeboat would also have some flares, something that might alert people to his peril. Because the chances of his family searching for him weren’t that great for another few days and Dick didn’t know if he had that long.

Nature was a bitch and the ocean was the head bitch. One strom and it would be over for him. One night without anything to warm him and hypothermia would set in. If it didn’t had already. Dick was shacking pretty bad and there was no way to tell if that was thanks to the shock of the crash or the water slowly freezing him.

Anyways… Dick had to get in the boat. He had to. It was his only chance. Well, fuck. 

He counted to three in his head and out loud. And on three he pushed and pulled and almost sank the boat but finally he was in. He had finally done it. He had reached something resembling safety. Something resembling hope.

And now he laid there for the elements to claim him, in his waterlogged clothes, on a dingy little boat, hoping to survive long enough for someone to save him.

There was only a slight chill in the air but it managed to send shivers down his spine immediately. He might still not be sure about the trembling sensation of before, but he knew his current shaking could only be attributed to the cold. He had to find something to warm him up.

There was a small package with emergency rations and - on the very bottom behind a bit of water and dry fruit - an emergency blanket. His hands were shaking so bad at this point that Dick almost dropped it when it finally came free from the package. 

After a bit of contemplation Dick came to the realization that the blanket would do nothing to keep him warm if his clothes were still wet. He really hoped he saw his saviors coming so he could put his clothes back on, but as of now he was naked when he huddled under the piece of rustling plastic.

Night came and Dick imagined that some feeling returned to his toes and fingertips. The blanket was doing its job. Which didn’t mean that Dick wasn’t still a victim of the elements. His nose was running and he was pretty sure that the remaining shivers had more to do with an oncoming cold than with any remaining freezing water cooling him down. He was getting sick. While being shipwrecked (well, plane-wrecked). On the Pacific Ocean. With no one aware that he was there.

Oh, great. This would certainly end well.

But that reminded him of the emergency flares and the fact that it was finally dark enough for them to reach their maximum efficiency. His hands had retained a slight tremble when he fumbled for the flares but there was nothing he could do about it. Instead he took the shipwrecked colored flare and shot it in the sky.

It was weirdly pretty watching the red light ghost across the ocean, leaving behind a trail of glowing night.

The stars were barely visible over Gotham on most nights, either obscured by light pollution or dark clouds, but Dick still remembered the night sky over the Great Planes, when the only thing for miles over miles was their little train and the endless expanse of stars. 

The sky stretching across the Pacific reminded him of just that. Of eight year old him laying in the panorama carriage of Mr. Haly, staring at the stars and imagining the world from a different viewpoint. In a way the sky reminded him of home.

He laid there, huddled in his blanket, his clothes on the railing trying to dry, and stared up to the stars. To the planets they knew, and those that were still foreign. To the heroes he knew and the aliens he cherished. He fell asleep being watched by the stars.

When he woke up, it was to the screeching of a gull sitting only half a foot in front of his face. To say that Dick had been startled would be an understatement. He threw himself away from the gull, nearly overturning his little boat in his haste to get away from the screaming bird. Only the sluggishness of his movements saved him.

And now that he was awake, Dick started to feel the cold that had seeped in through the bottom of the boat and leeched warmth from Dick and his blanket until only a cold clamminess had remained. Besides the chill in his bones, Dick could feel the flu in the stuffiness of his nose and head, the way everything tilted a little bit if Dick turned to fast. He had gotten sick.

As if to congratulate him on his observation, a sneeze burst out of him. It hurt. But when he tried to grab the emergency rations he saw that the gull was faster. The bird had managed to rip open the packaging of dried fruit and ate at least half of it. Only his water was still intact.

“Shu! You stupid fucking bird! Fuck off!”

The gull only stared at him, cocking its head, before snapping after Dick’s waving hand. Dick stared back. Their staring match was interrupted by yet another sneeze. 

At that Dick gave up and laid back down, trying to cover as much of him as possible with the blanket. He knew when to pick his battles and this wasn't one he was keen on fighting (and losing). Instead he kept searching for warmth. But it didn’t want to come. The shivering had started back up again and when he looked over to see if any of his clothes were dry yet, that damned gull had stolen his underwear and paraded around with it in its beak. 

“You are the bane of my existence. And I fought Bane before.”

The gull wasn’t impressed with Dick’s fabulous pun skills. Instead it decided to fling his underwear into the sea. Great. Just great. 

The only companion of his Robinson Crusoe adventure was a fucking seagull. Well, at least he would manage his adventure without the blatant racism. 

His head was slowly killing him and the longer he stared at the gull, the more it hurt. He was very deliberate when he took the water bottle, making sure the gull knew just who the boss was. But even the water didn’t really help. It soothed the burning in his throat but it couldn’t calm the waves of nausea in his stomach or the ache of the fever.

You got waterlogged once and suddenly you had to fight of a fever while on high sea. 

Looking around didn’t bring any relief either. There were endless masses of water around him. Water and nothing else. No ship, no land, no Fata Morgana. A noise next to him made him look around. The gull had taken a seat next to Dick, eyeing the shiny blanket with contempt.

“That’s mine. Mine alone.”

The gull needed a name. 

“You look like a Jason… You know what? You really do. It is an honer to welcome you, Jaybird the Gull, officially into the Wayne family. You will make us proud.”

Jaybird didn’t seem to be impressed. Well, neither had the real Jason. 

The day progressed and Dick could feel his fever getting worse. He was shivering constantly now, and he was so hot that the only thing preventing him from stripping his blanket away were the last remains of coherent thought. And the way Jaybird eyed it. That bird would not get his blanket.

He just knew that the envious bird would steal it from him as soon as Dick would stop clutching it against his chest. He could see it in Jaybird’s eyes. 

Another cough made him wish he hadn’t drank the last of the water, but with the fever came the thirst. And Dick hadn’t been strong enough to say no to himself.

But something positive happened too: At least a few of his clothes had dried enough for him to wear them again. And he only had to fight Jaybird over one of the socks. Why the gull had joined him, Dick had no idea but over the course of this long and exhausting day Dick started to care for the bird.

Maybe the fever just made him lose it. 

He fell in a restless sleep around noon and when he woke again hours later, he wished he hadn’t. Every bone in his body hurt, his lungs ached, and he was so, so cold. Grey clouds masked the stars and the milky darkness that spread across the ocean brought a feeling of foreboding with it. Which was why it started raining. Of course. Cursing Dick huddled under his blanket, trying to hide as far away from the rain as possible but he knew that it was a helpless adventure. 

Jaybird had left him too. That unloyal bastard. 

Within minutes Dick was wet again. It was so cold. So horribly cold. His thoughts drifted of, unable to focus between the shivering and the body heat his fever was ready to pour out. There was little he had to give but his body would give it nevertheless. 

His little boat was just listlessly drifting through a small storm on the Pacific Ocean and Dick was an unwilling passenger along for the ride. Sometime ago Dick had stopped hoping. 

Which was probably why Dick didn’t really react when searchlights cut through the darkness. And even when the light found him and Dick could hear his name be yelled, he didn’t move. Because this had to be his fever ridden brain playing a trick on him. Because what else could it be? Safety? No way.

What seemed like moments later a small ship appeared at his side with people in parkas standing in the rain, looking for him. Dick was just lucky that he had put his clothes back on, his brain whispered. This would be very embarrassing otherwise. Even if this was a hallucination. 

But then a pair of strong arms grabbed him and hauled him on top of the ship. Things immediately listed sideways but Dick tried to stay alert. Maybe this was real. Maybe he was really safe. Maybe they had rescued him.

“He is burning up. Let’s bring him inside”

“Hey! Dick!”

The gruff voice was replaced by a younger one. One, that Dick knew. Probably one of his brothers but when he turned around it wasn’t Tim that his eyes focused on. It was the gull sitting behind him on the railing. Dick grinned:

“Jaybird!”

“Dick? My name is Tim”

His little brother sounded hurt, so Dick hugged him, accidentally leaning almost his entire weight on Tim’s small shoulders. Staying upright was hard. Impossibly hard. 

“Dick? Let’s get you inside. You are pretty sick”

“But we gotta take Jaybird inside. He saved my life after all, Timmy”

“The gull?”

“Of course. Jaybird the Gull, official part of the Wayne Family. Just like you and me, Timmy”

Was the world supposed to sway that way? Probably. Dick let himself be swayed. 

“Dick! Hey! Can someone help me get him inside!”

Laying down was so much more relaxing. And the rain felt no longer harsh on his face. Him and Jaybird had been saved. Timmy would make sure of that. Dick closed his eyes and enjoyed the rain.

The cold never bothered him anyway...


	29. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick hab been numb for quite some time now, but somehow this was different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! ^^  
Only 2 Days to go! Chapter 29! And all of this thanks to you guys! <3  
I love all of you! <3  
And since I was reminded that this was a thing: Check out my [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sassydefendorflower/)
> 
> Warnings: Medical Inaccuracies, Comas

Dick had grown used to the numb feeling that had taken over his life in the last few months, the total exhaustion that made feeling things just too tiring. But this was something else. This was a numbness not only dampening his emotions, no, this numbness cut him of from his body too.

A part of him realized that he should panic, that that was not a good sign, that something had to be seriously wrong, but the larger part of him was just mildly confused. 

Why couldn’t he blink open his eyes? Why couldn’t he twitch his hands or feet? Why couldn’t he twist and turn and escape this darkness?

He didn’t know and he didn’t care. Consciousness was a fleeting thing and it graced him only seldomly long enough for him to be even aware of the numbness spread throughout his body. 

When thoughts grazed him the next time, it wasn’t the lack of feeling that piqued his interest: It were the sounds that breached his senses for the first time in what felt an incredibly long time. 

It was the sound of machines beeping. It was the sound of muffled steps a few rooms away. It was the sound of a hospital.

That did scare Dick. Because he had no idea how he got here. He didn’t know why or what or how, but before he could think too hard about it, the darkness claimed him again, soothing over his fears and making him compliant. It was nice not feeling anything.

Voices broke through the darkness sometime later, and it took Dick way too much time to realize that one of these voices belonged to his dad:

“And what now?”

“As I explained to you already, Mr. Wayne, multible times, now we wait. Your son had an traumatic brain injury, he is in a coma, Glasgow Coma Score of 7 when he was brought in, which has now leveled to a Cognitive Level II on the RLAS, though there has been no improvement on the GCS as of yet. He has the best care in the world, you made sure of that Mr. Wayne, and we will make sure that everything that can be done will be done. But you? The best you can do is be there for him. It’s the doctors job to heal him and it is your job as his father to be there for him. And now let me do my work!”

Dick didn’t know the other voice, and most of what she said flew right over his head, but he did realize that Bruce had done again what he did best: Annoy people. 

Someone left and someone else did things with his body, but before Dick could focus again, light got forcefully pushed into his eye. Dick tried to get away from it but again his body wouldn’t work like he wanted it too. This was getting pretty annoying.

“You are doing great, sweetie. That was almost a normal reaction. And don’t be mad at me for yelling at your dad, but he can get pretty grating for my nerves. I hope he comes back soon with one of your cute siblings. They really want to see you again. Even if you are gonna sleep a bit more, huh?”

Well, what was he supposed to answer to that? Yes, coma-ing sucks? No. He… he went to sleep again. Teetering to the edge of consciousness was exhausting and not really rewarding. Especially since confusion tinged all of his thoughts. He would think something and only second later it would be gone again. Yeah, the darkness sounded so much more relaxing.

The next time he heard someone it was that woman’s voice again. Again? He was sure he had heard her before but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“… on the RLAS. That means he reacts to some stimuli. You can talk to him or hold his hand and your big brother is probably gonna know. He just isn’t going to really react. Sometimes some of his muscles might twitch but that doesn’t automatically mean that he will wake up, it’s more-”

“I know. I have done some extensive reading on coma patients, Har- Doctor. Now, let me see my brother!”

“A whole family of charmers, I see…”

Footsteps, very, very lonely footsteps. Then a small hand clutching his. Dick tried with all his might to squeeze back but his muscles wouldn’t react. 

“Hello, Richard. Father doesn’t know I’m here, said that it wouldn’t benefit me to see you in such a state but I disagree. It does us all some good to realize we are not infallible.”

Damian. The little one. What was he doing here?

“I really did some reading on the matter. But what that harlot wouldn’t tell me, is that which each day you waking up becomes more and more improbable. You’ve been here for over a week. They had to stabilize you and in the beginning they weren’t sure if you could breath on your own. They weren’t sure if you would survive at all.”

Damian. His kid. He sounded so sad. Dick didn’t like that. He wished he could just stand up and wrap the kid in his arms. It would make both of them feel better. But his body didn’t belong to him. It was a numb puppet, hanging there with it’s cables cut.

“I wasn’t allowed to see you then. Because I was too young. Imbeciles. All of them, as if I hadn’t seen so much worse in my life already. But we couldn’t tell them that, of course. And now I came here anywhere. And the doctor told me, that she would let me see you. Because except for Father no one had been here and she thought you might be lonely. And we can’t have that Richard.

Father only told me you were hurt a few days ago. I was in San Francisco. You wouldn't be here if I had stayed in Gotham. I would have had your back. I am the Robin to your Batman after all."

His little brother talked and talked and talked. More than Dick had ever heard him say before. After a while the words blended together, washing over him before he could grasp them. But he was happy anyway. His brother was there. Damian. His kid. Even if he did sound sad, even if Dick had forgotten why he was here, again. But he was.

"I miss you. And I hope you get better soon... Being home with Father just isn't the same without you"

And Dick let go of consciousness with a bit of resistance. At least this time.

A weird noise ripped him from the darkness of his mind to the darkness of his life. It was a scratching sound, almost vanishing behind the beeping of the machines keeping him alive. It was the sound of a Bat opening a window.

“Holy Shit, they really did a number on you, huh, Big Bird?”

It was Jason. His brother. The… the lost one. The dead one. Was he here to take Dick with him? Dick wasn’t ready. But at least one of his siblings would be the one to send him to the other side. That was something Dick could be happy with. Something to be content with.

“When B called and said you were critical, I didn’t really believe him. Well, that’s on me, I guess.”

B had called Jason? They were talking again? Why had they stopped? Oh, because Jason was dead. Dick had the feeling that he wasn’t really following the conversation.

“Timbers and Bruce are across the world, searching for even more, even better medicine for you, and they left you here to rot alone. B should really understand how empathy works, that fucker.”

There were steps and then the soft sound of papers being ruffled, before something heavy dipped the bed Dick laid on.

“Huh, GCS 7 = E2 V2 M3 at 22:14? RLAS Level II? That doesn’t look too peachy. But I know you, Big Bird. You don’t stay down for long. Even if the rest of us wants you to. And now all of us are working on this together, for once. You have no choice but to survive this.”

Something heavy hit his hand, and it took Dick too long to figure out that Jason had taken his hand in his. That Jason was shaking. That Dick could do nothing to stop it.

“I brought a book. Thought you might want to read it with me?”

Jason’s smooth voice carried Dick’s thoughts away. He didn’t know which book they were reading or what the plot was but he enjoyed the sensation of being able to lay next to Jason and just listen. There had been a time where this was normal. Dick couldn't remember it anymore. He didn’t even realize when Jason left again.

The voices became a constant after that. Sometimes it were nurses whispering about him or their private lives, sometimes it were friends and family. There were moments were Dick thought he might have opened his eyes, only for it to not work the next time. 

There were times were Dick didn’t know or understand the person visiting him, even though they knew him. There was the time Bruce came. And sounded way too defeated:

“Hey, chum. Sorry, that I haven’t been around that much. You know me, I can’t sit still when there is some mystery to solve. That’s a trait I’ve got from you. And now you are the mystery I try to solve. But nobody can tell me anything besides the things I already know: Waiting. Waiting for you to wake up. Waiting for us to be able to access the damage. Waiting to know if my son truly did survive.”

Dick didn’t like this. Didn’t like the heavy feeling of dread that replaced the numbness holding fort in his heart. Didn’t like to hear his father sound lost. Didn’t like just laying there, unable to do anything. Unable to even give a hint.

“The Doctor told me that you’ve switched between cognitive levels a few times. It’s normal in the first few months of a coma and yet it still filled me with hope. She’s mad at me too. The Doctor, I mean. Said I should visit you more. That my sons are here frequently, as are your friends, but I never show. She’s right, isn’t she? I’ve spent the last few weeks restlessly searching for a wonder instead of taking care of you. That’s gonna change now, chum. I promise.”

Again, with the hand holding. Dick wasn’t sure what he felt, but he knew that being a bystander in his own life had gotten lame real quick. And hearing his family repeatedly break down on his bedside made nothing better. He was supposed to be there for them. To support them. Instead they had to take care of him.

"It's just... you are always so full of motion. It hurts seeing you so still. This is something were I can't do anything. There is no mystery to solve no matter how hard I try. There is only my son in a hospital bed, completely unresponsive. There is only my child and I can't help. I'm sorry, Dick. I wish... I really wish I could make everything right again..."

Dick had the vague sense that Bruce had stopped talking about this situation specifically and meant something else, but.. all he wanted was for his father to stop crying.

It was hard to track time. There were always people now, talking, touching, and yet Dick couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t keep up with their conversations long enough to understand, couldn't keep up long enough to get the passing of time. 

Sometimes he would hear the nurses cursing, when they returned to his room to right some alarm one of yet another machine had produced. He liked them. Their swears made them human, more than just the shadows who came and washed or changed him. They were a constant. They came often to poke or prod him. Nothing else happened with the same regularity than they did. It was comforting. It really, really was. Because everything else about time was fleeting.

He knew that Damian was with him often. But not how often. He knew Jason liked to visit at night. But not when night was. He knew Bruce tried to make more time for him. But not how often he succeeded. He knew Barbara wanted to visit more but was afraid. But not why she didn’t anyway.

Tim visited rarely. And he never knew what to say, so Dick was surprised to hear this particular little brother one day:

“They want to move you. Said that you are stable enough to be placed in a more permanent location. You don’t need the ICU anymore.”

Why did Timmy sound so sad? It was still hard to follow concepts and Dick knew that just in a few moments this whole conversation would vanish in the nebulous depths of his mind. But still, why was his little brother sad? Tim took a deep breath:

“I… I’m sorry, I haven’t visited more. Even Bruce got his act together. Hell, Demon Spawn came to me and told me to visit you, but… I am so sorry. It’s my fault. I asked you to help. I’m the one who didn’t catch you when you fell. It’s my fault. And I tried everything. I searched harder than Bruce, but… but I couldn’t find anything to make this right again. I failed you again. I’m so sorry.”

Dick couldn’t remember how he had ended up here. He remembered very few things with any clarity, but he knew with utmost certainty that whatever Tim was talking about, wasn’t really his fault. If he could just tell his brother. But that was impossible.

“I’m sorry… it’s just… they want to move you. You’re a 9 now on the GCS. That means they think you’re no longer in any real danger of sudden deterioration. But that also means that they think sudden improvement is out of the question, too. They suggested a semi-permanent care home to Bruce. You should have seen the look on his face”

There was a small chuckle in Tim’s voice and Dick wanted to do nothing more than hug his little brother until the self-loathing look that surly went with it, had vanished. 

“We’ll be taking you home instead. Alfred remodeled your room to fit all the hospital gear in and Bruce hired a nurse, who can take care of you. It’s… we’re gonna make it alright. I am gonna make it alright.”

Yeah, they would. Tim would. Whatever it was.

Dick was aware now more often for the tests, for his body responding even though Dick hadn’t told him to. Sometimes they pinched him and his eyes flew open, too unfocused for him to see anything, sometimes something hot would touch his arms and he would flail. There were even the times where moans escaped him, but those were rare.

And none of that was really Dick’s doing. It was his body’s sign that it still worked - at least somewhat. When he tried it, nothing came of it. When one of his muscles twitched at the same time as Dick’s struggle for his body, he could never not be sure, that that was just that: A twitch. Nothing special.

Even being at the Manor again did nothing to change that. For Dick it brought only subtle changes: A new smell, different noises, and more outlandish visitors. People, who were unable to sit by his bedside while he still stayed at the hospital. Kory came. Donna came. Garth came. Barbara basically moved into the Manor.

She was often in the room with him now, reading, or typing, rarely talking, but Dick could do with that. He wasn’t really bored, too out of it most of the time to care for it. But he liked her silent companionship. He didn’t have the feeling of missing something when they were together, there wasn’t a conversation he didn’t understand. There wasn’t an interaction he was incapable of giving.

With Barbara he could just be.

The words that left her mouth, were encouraging, nothing that made her or him sad. It was relaxing. It was utter nonsense. It was gossip. It was great.

“Pff, Kate’s new girlfriend is yet again a cop. People say you have a type but they have not yet met Kate Kane”

“Why is so much sugar in everything? It is hard to keep this body fit and all that sugar in pizza, of all things, isn’t helping!”

“Alfred made Rainbow Cookies and everyone is afraid to ask whom they are for, in case he made them for them. It is hilarious. He made them for Cass by the way, but she won’t spill”

“If I hacked the world championship of mathletes, and changed the score to proclaim me the winner, I might not be the greatest mathematician but I would certainly showcast myself as one of the greatest hackers”

“What if I rickrolled people by playing Bohemian Rhapsody instead? Like, instead of a really obvious rickroll. Oh My! Tim would be so mad!”

It was easy to let himself float in and out of focus with her, and it made it easier to listen to the others. In some ways this was the culmination of his entire character: Being helpless and damned to listen while everyone told him about their woes, and physically unable to tell anyone about his.

But luckily his scattered brain didn’t allow for the dark thoughts to stay any longer than the light ones. Instead it left only a bitter taste and the longing after physical contact behind. 

He missed being touched. In the most basic sense of the word: He missed friendly interaction, he missed hugs and cuddles and forehead kisses. People only ever held his hand. The closest contact he had was with his nurse who washed him twice a day and made sure he wouldn’t get bed sores.

It was a lonely endeavor, on some level. Even with a person being constantly with him, nobody was truly _with_ him. 

God, Dick wished the numbness was back.

Waking up was different than he could ever imagine. Waking up was a struggle so unimaginable that Dick didn’t even realize that that was what’s happening.

Because him hearing things? Him feeling things? That wasn’t being awake, that was being aware. Waking up meant having to fight for every inch of control for his body back.

Waking up meant, feeling the horrible ache behind his eyes. Waking up, meant feeling the weakness in his limbs, the catheters, the IVs, the life support connected to his body.

Waking up meant leaving behind the numbness, the darkness, the calm.

Waking up meant being terrified and confused. If Dick thought his thoughts to be slippery before he wasn’t prepared for what came with each ounce of consciousness that bleed back into his body.

It was complete surprise when suddenly someone was next to him or when the nurse touched him, to make sure everything was alright and the different machines were still connected to him. 

It was blinking only for his eyes to fall shut immediately. 

It was loud noises and a brain that refused to filter them into something comprehensible. 

It was finally being able to open his own eyes, on his own accord, only to find Alfred standing in front of him with a tray. A tray that fell to the floor in an undignified clatter as Alfred left the room, yelling:

“Master Bruce! Master Tim! Master Damian! He is awake. He is awake!”

It was staring back.


	30. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of how Robin became Nightwing. This is the story of a little bird falling. And standing back up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!^^  
Second to last chapter!!! GUYS!!! WE ALMOST DID IT!!!  
And I really hope you like today's chapter. It is one I have spend some time one, and one that is 11.000 words long... Heh, I know, quite the monster!  
I wanted to thank all of you again! You are wonderful! <3
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Injuries, Ableism, Major Character Death (it's Jason)

Dick Grayson was eight when his world ended for the first time.

Dick Grayson was seventeen when his world ended for the second time.

He was seventeen when the Joker cornered Batman and Robin in the rafters of a warehouse. He was seventeen when he slipped on a coiled rope and fell. He was seventeen when the rope tightened around his left leg and broke it. Ripped it.

He was seventeen when he lost his leg.

There wasn’t much he remembered from that night afterwards. The moment of surprise, the fear of falling, and then PAIN PAIN PAIN.

It took some time for him to wake up again, in the Batcave with so much pain killers in his system he neither knew his name nor what was going on. 

The first time he woke up and was actually coherent enough to comprehend that something had happened was almost a week after the event. He was no longer in the Cave, instead a normal hospital room greeted his bleary eyes. That was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

The second sign was Alfred sitting at his bedside and not Bruce. 

That something else was missing came to him much later, with Dick being still too high on the good stuff to feel any of his limbs. Instead he just stared at Alfred until the old man realized that Dick was awake.

“Master Dick, thank god! You had us quite worried. Do you need something? Some water?”

His throat was dryer than the Sahara, so he nodded, not really being aware of what was going on. A few sips later Dick finally managed to ask the one thing he did notice:

“B… Bruce?”

His voice was weak, pathetic, and suddenly he knew why Bruce wasn’t here. Dick had proven to be too soft after all. But that was not the answer Alfred gave him:

“Master Bruce is quite busy making sure that the man who harmed you is behind bars. He should arrive soon. Don’t worry, Young Sir”

Reassured Dick drifted back into the soothing darkness of sleep. He didn’t see Bruce that day. Or the day after.

He realized the loss of his leg later, when he shifted during the restless sleep that had infested him since they reduced his pain killers. It was two things that finally clued him in: The searing pain that shoot up his left leg and the weird lack of resistance when he fidgeted with the blanket.

Only moments later, when he looked down and saw the space where one of his limbs should be, he questioned why he didn't realize it sooner. With all the concerned looks Barbara and Alfred were sending him. 

(Bruce still hadn’t visited)

But he had been out of it for most of these conversations, only listening halfheartedly before slipping under again. And now he was alone with the knowledge that the Joker had taken his future from him. That his own foolishness had taken it. Robin was over.

The tears that started flowing shortly after came to no surprise. That nobody was here drying them for him, hurt almost more.

The next couple of days passed in a haze. Dick’s brain was trying so hard to come to terms with what was missing that he didn’t hear the tasteless promises of Alfred about Bruce. He didn’t hear Barbara’s forced cheerfulness. All he heard was “You can’t be Robin anymore” over and over in his head. It was infuriating. Especially since Dick didn’t know who he was without the mantel of Robin. 

When Barbara asked if the other Titans could visit, he shot her down. No, they weren’t allowed to see him. He had to get a grip before he could look Donna in the eyes again. Or Kory. Or Wally. Garth. Roy. 

The first sign of hope came upon him then, in the form of Dr. Tanja Romanova, his physical therapist. She was a tough woman, someone who only knew Dick Grayson, ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne. She had no idea that Robin was the one struggling to sit upright in front of her. That it was a hero that needed help. It was refreshing.

She was also the one who told him that with enough time spend on letting his leg heal, a prosthetic could be fitted for him. If he wanted to. She told him about a few specialists in the field of prostheses that she could refer him to as soon as his stump was healthy enough. 

Something heavy lifted from his chest - if only barely. Just after one week of being conscious Dick already missed the constant movement. He missed the high bars and the trapeze and the rooftops. He missed being Robin. But he was happy to start with Dick Grayson getting his feet back on the ground. Or his foot? Technicalities. 

There was no hesitation when he looked Dr. Romanova in the eye and told her that he was happy to talk to every specialist she could think off as soon as she deemed him ready. Her answering smile filled him with warmth.

The next months were spend in physical therapy. They told him that it was vital for the prosthetic to work for his other limbs to be well trained and in top shape. Let’s just assume Dick surprised Dr. Romanova. Which was not to say that the physical therapy wasn’t demanding. It was hard to learn to move again when a quarter of his limbs wasn’t there to actually follow his brains command. His center of gravity was royally screwed up. But he did it. He trained, he learned how to walk with crutches and how to crawl correctly (and how to stand on his hands, but he already knew that one).

Bruce had finally started to show his face too. He sat in the back of the training room, only to vanish before Dick got a chance to talk to him.

The only real talk they had since Dick’s accident had been a short “You can’t be Robin anymore”. And Dick had already known that. Which didn’t make it hurt any less. Bruce was blaming himself and letting it out on Dick, but Dick had too much on his plate to also take care of Bruce’s ego. Fuck, he had to learn to walk again. He wasn’t getting his leg back. And Bruce was certainly no help at all.

Was it that much to ask for Bruce not to be an ass for once?

But Dick used his frustration to channel it into his recovery. Dr. Romanova had to step in multiple times to remind him to look after himself, to make sure his body was ready. To make sure he wouldn’t make it worse in his anger to prove himself.

And finally, she green lighted him for a prosthetic. 

That was the first time Dick called Barbara in two months. He was ready to reach out again. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure yet, but Barbara was different. Barbara would understand. And she did. It felt good to talk to her again.

The first fitting for a prosthetic went horribly. It hurt when he tried to put it on, and he fell when he tried to walk with it. He was almost happy that he told Alfred to wait in the car. 

(Living at the Manor had changed since he was discharged. Bruce only rarely appeared during dinner time and getting around had taken on a much more challenging tone)

His prosthetist told him not to worry, that his limb might just take a bit more time, but all Dick felt was frustration. He had been doing great. He had been getting his life back on track, so of course, his stupid fucking leg had to fuck it all up again.

Even though he didn’t yell, didn’t let his anger get the best of him, the doctor told him that he should consider seeing a therapist. Something about life changing traumas. Bullshit. 

(And the public didn’t even know the whole story. They thought he was in a car accident)

He went out of that meeting angry and it didn’t change when he went home to vent only to almost fall again when he tried to get out of the car. His frustration was quick to turn into tears. Couldn’t he do anything correctly?

His father wasn’t talking to him, he had alienated his friends (No offense, Kory) and the only two people he still spoke to were the family butler and his best friend/crush. 

Maybe it was time to stop trying and just wallow in self-pity. 

A week later saw him talking to Black Canary for the first time about everything. 

A month later saw him return from a meeting with his prosthesist with a smile.

Two months later saw him working on walking again without crutches with Dr. Romanova.

Three months later saw him move out of the Manor. 

He couldn’t do it anymore. The silence between him and Bruce had started to suffocate him. When he asked Dinah about it, she told him that needing space in a situation like his was natural, and that he was allowed to take that space for himself. So, he did. 

At first, he had wanted to move to Blüdhaven, to put a whole lot of space between him and Bruce but it was impossible to forget that he still needed physical therapy once a week, had an appointment with his prosthesist every two weeks, and met with Dinah over coffee whenever he needed it. Which was quite often as of now. That, and nobody wanted him too far away in case he fell or needed help. He was a cripple now after all. He almost forgot.

So, a Gotham City apartment it was. 

Settling into a life on his own was different. He had handles installed in the bathroom and his bedroom, he needed to cook for himself, it was his own responsibility to do his course work. He was free. It felt great.

Half a year after the accident Dick called Wally again for the first time. 

Maybe he was ready to move forward. At least a tiny little bit.

His 18th birthday came, and Dick had lived alone for three months. He used his prosthetic on the regular now and when he tried hard enough, he could almost ignore the phantom pain that seared nerves he didn’t even have anymore.

His party was small but everything Dick needed. The Titans came and Barbara and Clark. Alfred had cooked them a true feast and for the first time since way too many months Dick was completely happy.

With every horrid joke Roy told, with every never-ending story Garth got caught up in, with every loving look Donna send his way, something in Dick loosened. He had locked these people out and no matter how often Dinah told him that that was normal, some part of him would always regret it.

With every touch from Barbara, with every shoulder bump from Kory, Dick could almost ignore the Bruce shaped hole at his table. His guardian had taken in a new kid. Jason. Adopted him too. Just as his guardianship over Dick ended. 

But, no, his birthday was his and his alone. He wouldn’t destroy it by thinking about Bruce. He was surrounded by too much love for that.

It was late that evening, closer to the next morning than any of them liked to admit, when Clark joined him on the balcony of his flat.

“How you doing, lad?”

“Has Bruce send you to talk to me?”

That got a chuckle out of Clark. Dick liked the big goof. Something made him feel safe with him that had nothing to do with Superman and everything with Clark Kent.

“No, I came here on my own. It’s your birthday! Only a Super kind of event would stop me from attending”

“Good to know. So, B has no excuse for not showing up”

Maybe Dick was a tiny bit bitter. Heck, he had any right to be.

“You send him an invite?”

“No. But when has he ever needed one before?”

Clark tugged Dick closer to him, embracing him in a one-sided hug.

“That’s true. But don’t spent too many thoughts on your old man. It’s your night. You’re the Nightwing of your own story!”

“Nightwing?”

“Have I never told you about Nightwing and Flamebird? Well, I can’t stand by that!”

And then Clark told Dick a story of Krypton. A story so sad and yet hopeful, Dick felt tears well up. With a look at Clark’s serene face, Dick realized that this story was his birthday present. Clark had shared something with him so deeply personal because he knew that Dick would treasure it. 

Maybe the real heroes were the friends you made along the way.

Three months later saw him in a slump. He used his prosthetic too often, too carelessly and now the skin on his stump needed time to heal which meant crutches and stares when he left the flat. Not that he didn’t usually got those, but on good days he could pretend that they were because of his charming personality and his dashing good looks. But not right now.

Which was why he stopped going out. 

The call from Barbara telling him that Jason was Robin now hadn’t helped either. He hadn’t talked to anyone in days. He hadn’t eaten in some time. He couldn’t even remember when he last talked with Dinah.

He missed flying. 

He missed it so much that he considered taking one last dash across the rooftops. It sacred him. And even more scared him his inability to do something against it. Or about it.

The person to finally shake him out of his stupor was the last person he expected to: Jason.

The boy, and it truly was still a boy, stood in front of his apartment door in the pouring summer rain and stared at Dick when he finally managed to get the door. Dick had tried to ignore it but after 15 minutes of nonstop ringing even the most steeled mind needed a break. 

So, to say that he wasn’t in the best mood when he found his replacement in front of his door would be an understatement:

“What? Didn’t Bruce tell you that the lost Robin was a cripple?”

Jason recoiled and Dick instantly felt bad. Why was he like that? The kid was not at fault for either his shitty mood nor his strained relationship with Bruce. 

Dick moved away from the door, into the apartment, motioning for Jason to follow him:

“Sorry. Want something to drink?”

That got the boy talking.

“Yeah. Some tea, if you have it.”

The accent was clear Crime Alley. Bruce had really outdone himself with that one. But Dick tried not to be more of a dick than he already was, so he didn’t say it out loud. He moved into the kitchen instead, leaning his crutches against the counter before filling the kettle with water. That seemed to intrigue Jason:

“You have one of these?”

Dick was just thankful that Jason hadn’t tried to help him. If that had been the case Dick would’ve had to use all of his self-restrained to refrain from punching the kid. And he wasn’t sure if that would have been enough. He was trying, okay?

“Do you think Alfred would let me move out without a decent kettle to keep myself alive? Never.”

Finally, the water was done, and Dick could set two cups of tea down on the couch table. Standing around was awfully awkward, especially with the kid your guardian adopted watching your every move.

“But what brings you here, kid? Didn’t believe I was real?”

Jason looked offended but Dick was way too tired already to think about what exactly had angered the kid. 

“No. There is no way to escape your fucking face in the Manor. I had to see for myself what all the fuzz is about. You would think you died with how Bruce talks about you, but you just lost a leg, for fucks sake!”

Well, that was a surprising new take. One that Dick was not in the mood to discuss.

“Congratulations, you saw my face. If that’s all you had to say, you can get out of my fucking home!”

And now he was getting angry. Wonderful. Maybe if he closed his eyes everything would be alright again. But Jason wasn’t ready to just stop:

“I fought with Bruce. That’s why I’m here. And I didn’t mean anything by it, just… Bruce never talks about you but there are pictures of you everywhere. Alfred tells stories sometimes, but you sound like a fucking angel in all of them. How am I supposed to be Robin if I’m unable to reach that impossible standard? I needed to know that you are human. And you are. Painfully so.”

“Well, thank you for the reminder. I almost forgot for a hot second there”

“It helps that you are.”

They fell into silence after that. What was Dick supposed to do? He had a thirteen-year-old on his couch who just yelled at him and then told him insights into Bruce’s life that even Alfred had forgotten to mention. 

What was the right thing to do in this situation?

“Do you wanna stay the night?”

Jason grinned at him:

“Yeah”

And Jason stayed the night. And the next morning Dick called Dinah again. It was time to prove to Bruce that he wasn’t dead yet.

In the following months Dick started to work out again. He took up boxing, weightlifting, and running. His prosthesist transferred him to Dr. Quinn when Dick started asking for prostheses that would make it possible for him to take on the high bars again. 

And with a collaboration between Dr. Quinn and Dr. Romanova he did just that. He learned how to safely take on his gymnastics equipment without the prosthetic and, when Dr. Quinn designed experimental gymnast prostheses, he learned how to do it with them too. 

He was finally flying again.

Was it hard and different and yet totally worth it? Yes. 

Flying without a second leg ended on the floor more often than not, but it didn’t clip his wings as long as he was in the air. Dick was sure that he would even be able to do the famous Flying Grayson quadruple flip, if he trained hard enough. 

It felt like breathing being up on the high bar - and later when they moved on to a low hanging trapeze. It felt like being Dick Grayson again. 

Training with his prosthetic was more demanding. Simply because they had to take time outs more often to see if it fit, if his skin or muscle were irritated and to make sure that he didn’t accidentally overexerted himself. 

But there was something exhilarating in doing a flip - nothing too fancy - and landing on two legs. 

Slowly but surely, he got back in form. In Robin form. A bit different now, but superhero fit nonetheless. But that made it even more apparent that no human prosthetic would allow Dick to fly across the rooftops like Robin once had. 

Dick Grayson would be able to fly again like this. In the safety of a gymnasium far away from things like uneven ground, badly lit stairs, or useless gaps (Dick finally understood now why the metro always warned you to Mind The Gap).

After all this Robin was still stuck on the ground. 

Still, Dick started to go out more with leg and without. Dinah helped him realize a few things and when Wally knocked on his door asking for some quick advice or Jason needed to cool down at his apartment after a fight with Bruce, Dick no longer felt powerless. He was moving again.

And when he kissed Barbara for the first time when he was eighteen and a half and she kissed him back, he didn’t think that there was anything less between them than just their love for each other. 

It had been 1 ½ years since the accident when Dick contacted Cyborg and Martian Manhunter regarding an idea he had for a future prosthesis. 

They answered his call - and who in the Superhero community wouldn’t? - and together the three of them sat down to start a project. A project that would give Dick his wings back. 

Whenever they reached a dead end, Dick would inquire with Dr. Quinn what her personal opinion on this completely hypothetical prosthesis would be. It only worked because nobody suspected Dick Grayson to be working with the Justice League. 

They made progress. 

The first try was a complete disaster, however. It was a crash and burn scenario that ended with Dick having second degree burns and Cyborg and J’oann getting yelled at by Batman. Dick was kind of disappointed that Batman hadn’t yelled at him too. He would give anything to get some fucking recognition from his mentor. From his dad. Anything at all.

They continued anyways. 

And after the second try (just wouldn’t move), the third try (moved too much), the forth try (seemed to work until it suddenly started to sizzle), and finally the fifth try (it just… fell apart) it finally worked. 

They created a prosthetic that was connected to Dick’s brain, reacting almost instantly to his synapses telling his leg to move. It looked humanoid (other than his every day prostheses) and was made from black and blue _[graphene](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FGraphene&t=ZTExYTljM2ExZTQ4MzMzOTc2ZDY4NDdkNzEyZjVmOGVhMzhkYTIyMCw2VmV2dzEybw%3D%3D&b=t%3AdEtuKd7bUHN5vt6HuhGIag&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsassydefendorflower.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F188222843539%2Fwhumptober-day-30-recovery&m=1)_, an extremely hard but light substance. 

It was something a hero could wear without proclaiming his lack of limb to the whole world. Plus, it looked really fucking metal. 

But like every good thing in life it had drawbacks: It tired him out faster, he couldn’t wear it for longer periods of time, and it made the phantom pain haunting him so much worse. Because suddenly his brain could send signals to his left leg again. But there was still no organic leg to feel anything.

On one memorable instance the NOPE (Neurological Operating Prostheses Engine) had malfunctioned and broken down with one bolt just yeeting itself out of the joint. And Dick had yelled as if in pain because his brain saw something leaving his knee and decided that that bolt had been his. The pain had been real for him, but not for his body.

But all of this was secondary to the one thing Dick had worked so hard towards: He was going out to fly again. With a bit of training beforehand, of course. 

Now he only had to choose a name. Robin didn’t feel right anymore (and not only because Jason was Robin and Dick had started to actually like the kid) but because Robin was Batman’s partner. And if Dick was one thing no longer it was that. 

He remembered his birthday again. And sitting outside with Clark. Dick grinned when he dialed Clark’s number. He had a question for Superman.

To say he was surprised when Batman, no, Bruce Wayne stood at his door two months later, during lunch of the day Dick was ready for a test run with NOPE, for a test run as Nightwing, would be an understatement.

He hadn’t talked to Bruce directly since he moved out of the Manor. That had been over a year ago. Alfred called him regularly, of course, and Jason came over solely to curse out Batman, but they hadn’t come face to face in quite some time. It felt as if he was seeing Bruce for the first time again. It wasn’t pleasant.

“What are you doing here?”

Dick was dressed leisurely in a hoodie and some pants Barbara had helped him modify for no-prostheses days (there had been relatively many of these lately). He could feel Bruce’s eyes stopping at the sewn-up pants leg. 

For a moment the emotional whiplash threatened to unbalance Dick. He had forgotten that Bruce had never seen Dick just be without some sort of prosthetic on. He had seen Dick, back before the accident, and he had seen him in the hospital, completely lost and yet desperate to work towards ‘normality’. 

But Dick as he was now? At ease with his body? Comfortable to look into the mirror and not flinch back when only three limbs greeted him? No, Bruce was the only person Dick called family that had never been part of the Dick After. 

It hurt. It hurt so much more than Dick could have ever imagined. 

“I… I wanted to see you”

“Now?”

Bruce just looked at him. His eyes were locked on Dick’s face now, burning into his skull. It might be Bruce who appeared at his doorstep, but it was Batman who handled this conversation. And nobody said no to Batman.

“Yes. Now.”

Dick let him inside his apartment. 

It was awkward. Of course, it was. But Bruce made Dick conscious of his body. Of his movements through his home. Of the crutch he used to comfortably reach places. He made him feel his disability.

Dick hated it.

But he went to the kitchen nevertheless, starting the coffee machine and starring Bruce down when he moved into Dick’s space. Both of them were silent until they had taken a seat on his table. And as always it was Dick who caved first:

“Now what do you really want, Bruce? You haven’t talked to me in over a year”

“I… I heard about your little pet project with J’oann and Victor and I wanted to tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, aren’t we all lucky then that you are no longer my guardian? Aren’t we all lucky then that you can no longer tell me what to do? Not since Robin. Not since the accident.”

Dick knew he sounded bitter. Heck, he was bitter. The satisfaction that cursed through his body when he saw the shocked look on Bruce’s face made him feel warm. Warm and a tiny bit dirty. Bruce had still been his second father. Dick hated the amount of power he had over him.

But Bruce surprised him just then. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture and nodded:

“I know. I just thought you should know that I won’t support this endeavor in any form but…”

“Then you can leave.”

“No. Hear me out. I know I haven’t been the best guardian this past year and half. I know I messed up. Let me try to fix it. Please, Dick.”

“I want you to leave right now, Bruce. I want you to leave and only come back when you are capable of looking me in the eyes. I want you to fuck off until you learn to respect me again.”

He was angry but his voice sounded weak. Bruce wanted to extend a hand but then he seemed to remember the current conversation and did the only good thing he had done in a long, long time: He left.

And for the first time since seeing Bruce at his door, Dick could breathe again. With each deep breath came a surge of tears. Tears, he had held back when his guardian - his dad - had told him once again, that he didn’t believe in Dick. It was nothing new and yet it hurt each time.

He went out that night, anyway. Out of spite. Out of righteous fury. Out of a promise to himself: He would stop letting Bruce dictate his life.

His first few nights out were a complete disaster. Well, not completely, he got to make out with Batgirl on a rooftop on the night of his 19th birthday. But other than that?

His reactions were slightly off when they were in a fight, he accidentally almost killed a crook when he kicked him too hard with his NOPE, and no amount of training could prepare him for the fact that he could jump 3 feet further than before and miscalculated his landings frequently because of that.

But none of these things were life-shattering. They all just meant that he had to work a bit harder and Dick was ready to do just that. Hell, Dick had always been ready to do just that.

And if he had to train more and work later and strain himself more, just to be able to run next to Batgirl and take the city with her, it was totally worth it. Nightwing was flying and that was everything that counted.

So, what if Batman and Robin made themselves scare on the route him and Barbara usually choose? So, what if Jason told him that Bruce had broken his hand in anger when the first report of an injured Nightwing came through? So, what if Bruce hadn’t called himself to make sure that Dick was okay?

(Which he was. He had sprained his ankle which resulted in a few awkward days and endless teasing from Roy who had crashed on his couch. Dick had been duped the “Legless Wonder” for most of the time. It had ended in only one black eye)

He was 19 now. An amputee for almost two years. He had a closet full of prostheses, an absolutely awesome girlfriend, friends who would do anything for him, a little brother, a college he attended sometimes (Sorry, Alfred), and he was flying again. _He was flying again._

He was happy. Especially when it came to the larger picture. Dinah told him how proud she was, and Dick had to agree: He was proud of himself too. It was a great feeling to have. 

It was one that made it worth it when he overbalanced or tripped over small things. It made it worth to struggle sometimes only to find other things laughable easy. 

It made it worth for his first month out to be a bit of a disaster. But hey, they were superheroes. When did any of their lived not resemble a disaster?

Nightwing became a fixture on the Gotham night sky. It had taken only half a year and suddenly the papers asked if Nightwing and Batgirl would transcend Batman and Robin. It was a hilarious debate to follow.

Dick enjoyed it immensely. He had started to read the paper during breakfast just to keep up with it. The fact that his hero-ing had gotten better and better helped with the slight pinch whenever he read the name of his mentor. They hadn’t talked since Dick threw him out of his apartment. There hadn’t even been a card for his birthday.

But Dick was over that now, really he was. Recently the thought of joining up with the Titans again was far more important. His old team had done good without him, but he knew he could make them great. 

Barbara supported him fully when he’d asked her. But still, it was a hard decision to make. The extreme use of NOPE made him unable to use his daily prostheses too often and while Dick had honestly no longer a problem with his lack of leg, taking on the world with crutches was fucking exhausting. He could simulate being fully able-bodied when he wore a prosthetic (and even then, it was a simulation) but with crutches stairs were even more of a hassle than usual. And Gotham was shit when it came to disabled access for buildings or the metro. Bruce should really get on that.

All of that was manageable, however. Dick made sure of that. But with the Titans? That would mean longer missions, even more of a strain. It made him ask himself if he should tell all of them his secret ID and not just the inner circle, he considered his family. It made him ask himself if it was safe to be Dick Grayson around them, instead of Nightwing.

He had filled notebooks with pro and con lists, but no definite result had yet presented itself. Dick was kind of tired of all this thinking if he was honest.

Which was why Bruce knocked on his door again, of course.

It was like the man could smell when Dick was in emotional turmoil. It wouldn’t surprise Dick if he could. That creeper would learn such a skill if it was possible.

“What do you want now?”

Dick was done pretending to be polite when it came to Bruce. 

“To say sorry and to talk to you”

That made Dick still in his angry rant he had been planning in his head. Bruce wanted to say sorry? The world must be ending. It was the sincere look in Bruce’s eyes and the complete lack of Batman in his posture that made Dick step back and let Bruce enter.

“You are going to leave if I tell you to”

“Of course”

“Good”

They got settled on the couch, coffee in front of them, and only then did Dick realize that Bruce hadn’t stopped to stare at his leg even once. Huh. His former guardian might have actually learned his lesson. He might actually be sincere. 

“Talk”

Which didn’t mean that Dick wouldn’t be a bit of a dick to him. After almost two years of minimal contact, Dick felt that to be fair. And Kory told him once that him being salty was “as you humans call it: Sexy” and Barbara had agreed. So, salty it was.

Bruce straightened and looked Dick directly in the eyes when he spoke. There was an almost stiffing air of importance around them. Dick had to swallow even before Bruce started talking:

“I… I’m sorry, Dick. I am truly sorry for how I treated you those last few years. Before your accident as well as after. Especially after. I… I told myself that it was my fault, what had happened, that I was to blame and that you would be better off without me. I didn’t realize that me being there for you, was the one thing I could do. And that made me clam up. I… You suffered for my mistakes and you suffered even more under my inability to talk to you. And I am truly, completely sorry for that.”

“I… I don’t know what you want from me, Bruce. What am I supposed to tell you? Thank you? I’m sorry too? What do you want to hear?”

Dick was lost. There were only very few memories of Bruce opening up like this and none of them were recent enough to prepare Dick for all these emotions he felt. But Bruce seemed to be the emotionally prepared one for once in his life. He took Dick’s hand in his, never breaking eye contact and said:

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who took away your autonomy and your integrity. All I want to know is if you are happy. If you are healthy. If you like the person you became. Because - while I might not know everything - I am damn proud of you.”

There should be a legal clause in place that forbade the immense pride and suffering that cursed through Dick’s body when he heard that last bit. It made him feel like Robin again, constantly trying to gain approval, constantly trying to make Batman proud. He didn’t know why he was so happy and so angry at the same time. He didn’t know how this was possible.

“Why? Because your disabled little charity case managed to get his life back on track? Because I am such an ‘inspiration’? You have no idea. I am just living my life and if you would have even cared for one minute enough for your ginormous head to get out of your ass, you could have been a part of my life. You wouldn’t have to be proud of your cripple for surviving, you would be happy for your son for living!”

Where had all these words come from? Dick had no idea, but he did feel lighter for having said them. 

No matter how often he promised himself to get over Bruce, for him to reach independence from this part of his life, he never really succeeded. What a bitch move from life.

“I… I am proud of you for doing your own thing without me. I am proud of you for everything you did as Robin and for everything you will achieve as Nightwing. I am proud of you for working with Clark and Victor and J’oann and I am proud of you for not letting me stop you. I… I would be more than proud if I would be allowed to call you my son. And I know I fucked that one up, so I am going to go now… just… Batman would be more than happy to welcome Nightwing down in the cave.”

Dick was too stunned to react when Bruce stood up and left. What the ever loving fuck had that been? 

But at least this had helped him in making a choice. He dialed Donna’s number. He had a team to rejoin.

Being with the Titans again was fun. And so much less problematic than he had imagined. 

His friends were the greatest people on earth (and on this side of the galaxy) but what else was new. Whenever the running and jumping and being awesome got too much, Dick excused himself to monitor duty. And none of his friends ever even imagined thinking worse of him for it. Maybe Dick had been the one to overthink this all along.

He still patrolled in Gotham, just not as often anymore. He lost a bit of his one-on-one time with Barbara for it, but it also gave him some more space to think about Bruce and their last talk. Nothing had come of it besides a weird feeling in Dick’s stomach. 

At least that was what he kept telling himself. 

It was Jason that called him that fateful night, which would mark the beginning of yet another end. Barbara and Commissioner Gordon had been kidnapped by the Joker.

Dick’s blood ran cold. It must have showed on his face, because when he looked up from his phone all of his friends at Titans Tower stared at him. It only took him half a sentence to convince Wally to take him to Gotham.

When he arrived, the worst was already over. Barbara and her father had been found. Jim Gordon was alive, Barbara barely hanging on in the hospital. It pained Dick to slow down and change into civvies before he could go and visit her.

(And yes, it would always be weird to limp into a hospital after a long day and visit someone else. It felt as if people forgot that he could have hurt friends too, just because he was obviously lacking something. Common sense, according to his friends. Or self-preservation)

He wasn’t alone when he reached the operating room. Jim Gordon sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room area. He slowly sat down, as to not spook the man. Jim looked ten years older than he had when they had last seen each other. 

“How is she?”

Gordon looked at him then, with contempt and hope in his eyes. Maybe Dick wasn’t the person he had hoped for. Or maybe he was. Dick just knew that he had to be Dick Grayson tonight and not Nightwing. That Batman and Robin would have to be enough while he sat and waited for Barbara to survive. 

Had his friends and family felt the same that first night after his fall? Probably.

“Extensive spinal cord injuries. Head trauma. Broken rips. They are still treating her but it’s up to her if she survives. It’s up to my little girl to survive”

“How good, that we both know then, that Babs is a fighter”

Dick had to believe in that. There was no other option or choice. Barbara would survive and she would thrive, and Dick would be there for her. It was just how the world worked.

They sat together the whole night. Not talking, but sharing companionship nonetheless. Jim brought him coffee and Dick shared his snacks. It was early morning when a doctor finally came to talk to them:

“Family of Barbara Gordon?”

“I’m her father. That’s her boyfriend”

Dick nodded even if the comish’s tone had been harsh. The man was under a lot of stress right now. Sparing Dick’s feelings was very low on the list of things to look out for.

“We stabilized her and transferred her to a room in the ICU. Her spinal injuries are severe, though. The bullet lodged itself between L4 and L5 of her lumbar, or lower spinal cord. She will most likely be paraplegic. Other than that, she should make a full recovery. I will send a nurse when she is ready for visitors. One at a time.”

With that the doctor vanished back into the operating room. Gotham was a busy city for doctors and nurses and they couldn’t spare any time for the finer points of human interaction. They had lives to safe. And they had just saved Barbara’s.

A ginormous wave of relief washed over Dick. Babs was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. Next to him Jim started crying. For a moment Dick didn’t know what to do, and then he reached out and pulled the commissioner in a one-sided hug.

“It’s gonna be alright. She made it”

“I know. My little girl is alive. My little girl survived”

Dick let the father cry, having tears run down his own face. Distantly he wondered if Bruce had been like this too that night. Unimportant. That laid in the past, while this was the present.

Dick held onto Jim and Jim held onto him. Together they waited. Together they cried because Barbara had survived.

Dick wasn’t surprised when she banished him from her hospital room two weeks later. He had done the same after all 2 ½ years prior. And their situations were different. She had a bit more to deal with. He could wait and he would be there when she needed him. 

He would give her the same space and trust she had given him. 

It was the right thing to do. Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to cope in the most Bat-way possible, however. He had finally taken up Bruce’s offer to use the Batcave. 

The Joker was currently back at Arkham but Dick still needed to let out some steam. He took to training in the cave, to going out with Batman and Robin at night. Nobody said anything if he was a bit harsher with the criminals than necessary. 

Batman himself seemed badly shaken up and Jason had screamed with rage when Bruce told him that Arkham was all they could do against the Joker. Dick had wanted to scream too, but some part of him agreed with Bruce: They couldn’t kill no matter what. No matter how much they wanted to.

But Jason was even more disagreeable than normal. Dick knew that Jason liked Barbara, but he was impressed by just how much his little brother cared for her. When asked why Jason just beamed at him and said:

“She’s fucking Batgirl. A normal girl deciding to be a hero without Batman to hide behind. And she could totally kick your ass!”

Which, true, it was adorable and heartbreaking at the same time. Barbara deserved to create this kind of burning passion in people. She was awesome after all. But Dick knew that Barbara had a lot of adjusting to do in the future. That Batgirl was most likely over. Not the hero part, no, never, but the part of her life where Batgirl was the moniker of her choice. Accidents and traumas like theirs changed you. And Barbara had been a woman for years. It was time her hero-name reflected that.

Dick would tell her just that when she was ready to hear it. 

Until then this punching bag was more interesting for his fists and thoughts. 

“You favor your right leg”

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But Dick didn’t grace Bruce with an answer out loud, instead he waited for the coin to drop. The shocked intake of breath only moments later was more satisfying than anything that had happened in the last two weeks.

“I’m so sorry, Dick. I didn’t mean…”

A breathless laugh escaped him. It was still so weird to see Bruce - freaking Batman - walk around eggshells when it came to him and his loss of leg. It was better than the guilty silent treatment, of course, but terribly weird and also a little insulting.

“I favor my right leg because I can’t really control the force I use with my left. There are a few too many criminals out there who ended up with worse than necessary injuries because I used my left one for a spinning kick.”

He looked at Bruce then because he felt the scrutinizing gaze of his mentor. Bruce was clearly contemplating something. It was a typical look on Batman and one Dick didn’t like.

“What? Spit it out?”

“Hn… I noticed differences in your gait during patrol, of course, but you and Barbara made sure to keep the capabilities of your Nightwing prosthetic out of my hands. What exactly can you do with it?”

Only a month ago Dick would have spit in his face. And while things weren’t okay between them - not for a long shot - Nightwing worked with Batman at last. And Batman needed to know what his allies could and couldn’t do.

“What NOPE can do? It enhances my ability to jump by 3 feet, and kicks are up to twice as forceful as they were before. I also have storage for snacks and equipment. Everything a night-time vigilante needs.”

Bruce only nodded before wandering off. Dick wanted to punch him right there, but he didn’t. All of them had too much on their minds. Social cues were lost on Bruce most of the time and during stressful periods? Well, good luck.

Time, well, time moved on. Barbare hadn’t yet contacted him, only told him through her father that she wanted more space. That Dick reminded her a bit too much of what she had lost. And just because Dick understood, didn’t mean that it hurt any less. Emotions were a bitch.

Instead he focused on cases centered in Gotham. He needed to be home just in case Barbara decided to reach out. Just in case the Joker broke out and Dick could get a chance in punching the clowns teeth in. 

And to be there for Jason. His little brother was 15 now and fighting with Bruce. Constantly. In a way he reminded Dick of himself, of that last year before the accident and the many that followed. But he wouldn’t let his misguided grief for things that were no longer ruin his relationship with Jason.

Instead he let him sleep at his apartment whenever he needed to cool off. Instead he made room for this little angry gremlin. They played video games together, they ate junk food, and whenever the night had finally progressed enough, Jason would spill the beans. About the fight. About the fear. About what being Robin meant to him.

It hurt to hear all that. It hurt and healed to know that Robin had not only saved him, but Jason too. He didn’t know how to react to those deep revelations, though, so he went with the Dick Grayson special: He hugged Jason close. 

He did the same thing the night Jason came to him because of a case he and Bruce were working on. The night in which Felipe Garzonasa fell. Dick listened and listened and hugged. But internally? He didn’t know how to proceed either.

Bruce would be furious. And anxious. At least partially, rightfully so. Someone had fallen. Someone had died. And Jason had been there. Something like this shouldn’t happen in their line of work. Wasn’t allowed to happen. And yet it had.

But Dick felt lenient too. Jason was still just a child. Mistakes were made and no matter if Jason pushed Felipe or not, he felt bad about it. And that was all that counted. At least to Dick. Dick would make sure that Bruce felt the same. A warning about deteriorating Father-Son relationships should do it. Dick knew where to push the buttons and he wouldn’t hesitate to push them.

But before Dick could ring true to his promise of talking to Bruce, the Titans answered a call for an off-world mission. Dick had never been off-world for longer than a day and it sounded awesome. It sounded like something far away from murdering little brothers and breaking relationships. It sounded like an A++ opportunity to run away for a bit.

He agreed and suddenly there was so much to do, that Jason got kind of forgotten. It sucked but honestly: outer space. A few galaxies away from worrying about Barbara (and he left her a message) and Jason (he left him his emergency number).

It was a whirlwind of motion and if everything went alright, Dick would celebrate his 20th birthday on a space station with people closest to him, excluding a few notable exceptions. 

They set sail and everything went great. He spent time with Kory and she told him about Tamaran and growing up as a princess. He joked with Wally and Roy and Donna, and sparred with all of them. He spent long days lounging around and short days fighting bad guys. 

It was a vacation of the superhero kind.

But they had to return. And they did. Two days before his birthday. With his phone logging back into the American Mobile Network and a hot bath (and a week without a prosthetic) in his near future, Dick couldn’t wait to reach his apartment.

There were two messages on his phone though, when he checked. The older one was from Jason, the newer one from Barbara. Both were very short. Both made dread pool in his stomach. Something told him that his bath had just been canceled.

Jason’s, dated three weeks prior, was simply “I have news” and the one Barbara had send him contained a dreadful “Call me!”. Dick didn’t want to. Dick did it anyway:

“Dick?”

Her voice sounded wrecked. Dick didn’t know if it was because of something regarding her health or if it was because of something completely different. He hadn’t heard her voice in far too long to be able to tell. 

“Babs? You said I should call you…?”

Dick was tired. He had been fighting aliens for over a month. He wanted a bath, sleep, some cereal and someone to massage to tension out of his left limb. He knew he would be getting neither. He knew his world would be destroyed once again instead.

“Oh, Dick… I… has Bruce talked to you?”

“No. No call. Nothing. Why? Because you scare me Babs.”

“I… Dick… Jason… Jason is dead. Killed by the Joker. Two weeks ago.”

The floor vanished under him. He fell to his knees in a graceless heap, not processing, not understanding, not believing.

“What? That… please tell me that isn’t true? Please… please…”

Tears were streaming down his face. He... He wanted. No. He… this had to be a lie. It had to! What would Dick do if it wasn’t? This couldn’t be true. No. Not Jason_. Not his little brother_. **NO**!

“I’m so sorry. I… I’m so, so sorry. My dad told me… the press knows, but I’m not sure if Bruce has talked to anyone since… I… I am so sorry”

Barbara was crying, Dick noted. Well, he was too. But there was something else that piqued his interest:

“Bruce? Why hasn’t he called me? He… he was able to. He was able to contact our ship. Why hadn’t he called? Babs? Why didn’t he tell me? I…”

He had to call Bruce. He had to. It was important. It felt almost as important as the hole in his heart did. His friends had gone home too, nobody knowing that Dick’s world would break apart only moments later and still all Dick did wish for was a tight hug and someone to tell him that everything would be okay. That this was a nightmare. That his little brother wasn’t dead.

Without another word he ended his call to Barbara. Instead he dialed the number of the Manor. It rang for a long while. But finally - finally! - Alfred picked up. Only hearing the haggard sound of Alfred’s voice confirmed everything. His little brother really was dead. God, _no_.

“Wayne Manor. Please state your request”

“Alfie…”

“Master Dick. You are back, I see”

“Is… is it true? Please, Alfie… is it true? Is Jason really dead?”

“I… I am sorry, but yes. Master Jason has… died”

Dick would love to be mad. Would love to hate Alfred for not telling him, but he could hear the un-shed tears in the Butler’s voice. He could hear his own pain reflected right back at him. 

“Oh… why? Bruce?”

“I am afraid Master Bruce has not yet left the downstairs to take care of the more personal issues… like calling his son about his brother’s… demise. I am truly sorry, Master Dick. I… I was so consumed by my own grief…”

“No. Not your fault… I guess I missed the funeral?”

“I’m afraid so”

“Oh… Alfie? Tell Bruce not to call me. I think I need so space. And… I am sorry too.”

Dick ended the call and did what he did best: He started to run.

He spent his 20th birthday on a park bench in Chicago, with some beer and without anything else. Without his dead little brother. Without his hurt girlfriend. Without his worried friends. Without the phone he chucked into the water after it started blowing up. Without a college education. Without a home. Without a leg. Without anything to look forward to.

Three months later found him in Blüdhaven. The city he had wanted to move to almost three years ago. Now he did it. Nightwing had relocated with him too.

Everyone knew that he had moved there. It was hard to stay under the radar when you couldn’t move past the need to be a hero. The need to feel something. The need to feel alive.

Dick had quit college when he heard the news and now he worked in a dingy cop bar, searching for trouble and information. Whenever someone asked how he lost his leg, he told them some wild story about Gotham and heroes who couldn’t do shit. It felt as if he was talking about himself. Maybe he was.

He talked to Wally and Roy and Donna. But never Kory or Barbara. He called Alfred and Leslie, but never Bruce. 

He was falling apart. His prostheses needed upgrades but neither talking to the JL or returning to Gotham for a check-up felt doable. His new apartment wasn’t made to handle his needs and he had taken to using a kitchen chair in the shower as to lower risks of injury. He still fell. It still hurt.

Dick was falling apart. He either slept too much or not enough. His pay made it impossible to eat healthy and more than once he marveled at the fact that was only able to move as freely as he did, because of Bruce’s money. Because of the fact that even now only the prostheses Bruce had paid for were the reason he could go to work or take the stairs. Even if he didn’t want to do either.

Even if he never wanted to touch anything Bruce had paid for again. 

Because it had been Bruce that lost his little brother. Because it had been Bruce who cost them everything, they had worked so hard on.

(Because it made the voice in his head bearable)

(Your fault. _Your fault_. YOUR FAULT. **your fault**. <strike>Your Fault.</strike> Your fault)

So, to say he was surprised to see Barbara in front of his apartment one day, would be an understatement. He hadn’t talked to her in months, hadn’t seen her since the Joker had his way with her. Hadn’t realized just how bad he missed her. 

She looked beautiful. Her red hair in a high ponytail, her eyes shadowed in the way of a nighttime vigilante, her clothes fitting and not in the way of her chair. The chair. Dick hadn’t even realized it was there at first. He had only seen her. How could he not? She was a powerful sight to behold.

(And, of course, his apartment complex had an elevator. He was broke, not suicidal. Probably. As of yet. Most likely.)

And for a moment he understood. People who loved you saw you not your disability. And even with that disability being a part of you, it didn’t stop the way they looked at you. It didn’t stand in the way of them truly taking you in. They saw every single part of you and loved you even more for it. Had she seen him the same three years ago? Probably. 

Because he saw her like that right now.

Saw how she commanded the room - or his tiny, dingy apartment -, saw her regal pose and the queen like force behind each of her movements. He saw Barbara Gordon.

“Why are you here?”

“Because someone needed to do it. Bruce is not going to and your friends are too far removed. So, here I am. Ready to kick your ass. Let’s go out and get some coffee!”

With that she turned to the door, leaving him behind. No, leading the way so he could follow. And that he did. With his crutches in his hands and a week-old hoodie, he definitely didn’t compare to her but he knew that that didn’t interest her. 

Instead they made their way downtown, through the dirty streets that made up Blüdhaven. Halfway to the coffee shop Barbara suddenly turned to look at him, and when he stared back, she smiled.

“What?”

“I just thought something pretty dumb and you are allowed to be offended but…”

“But what?”

Dick was intrigued. It was rare for Barbara to not outright say something. But then again, they hadn’t talked in any significant matter in almost half a year. Were they even still dating? 

“It is kind of nice to go down the street with someone you know is unable to try to push you. I think I almost dislocated my dad’s shoulder last week when we went to the grocery store and he wanted to push my chair on the way there.”

Dick laughed. It felt good. It felt foreign. It felt forbidden. But still… good. 

“I mean… I hope you know that I wouldn’t push you even if my hands were free. Cause, you know, I kind of get it. People trying to help. Feeling helpless. Being angry because of that”

“And do you feel helpless now?”

He stopped and stared at her. There they stood in the middle of the sidewalk, taking space and stares galore. Her chair and his sewn shut pants leg made them the target of public scrutiny. Their eyes met. He took a deep breath:

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. But not because of my leg. Really, that stopped bothering me as soon as everything else started going to shit. I’m just…”

What were the words he was looking for? What was the correct answer? He didn’t know. Barbara must have sensed it too because she motioned them forwards again. 

The coffee shop Dick had chosen was full, but they somehow managed to get a place anyway. A pretty barista brought them their orders, and both of them smiled when she sat it down. Not having to fight through the masses was always a relief. 

It was Barbara that started their conversation back up again:

“I’m going back into the hero business”

She said it as a challenge. As if she wanted for Dick to disagree. He couldn’t do that. He still knew that feeling all too well. He knew how much she needed support and love and understanding. He knew just how ready to fight she was.

“Cool. How? What’s your new moniker?”

“I deserve— Oh.”

And then she laughed. It was a beautiful sound. He could have fallen for her just because of her laugh but everything else she did was entrancing too. He was completely lost when it came to her. And yet he knew that it was a sound that happened far too seldom. 

“I… I thought of building up an information network. Batgirl was always awfully good at hacking and collecting intel. Maybe it is time for Oracle to make a job out of it”

“Oracle… I like it. It has a nice, mysterious ring to it.”

She smiled and without a second of hesitation Dick felt himself smile back. They drank their coffee and for the first time in quite some while a feeling of content settled in him. But of course, this conversation wasn’t over yet:

“How are you doing, Dick?”

“I… I am trying. Possibly failing, but God, am I trying.”

“Can I help?”

“I think you just did. Thank you. Babs, I…”

“Yes?”

“I love you. And I am so sorry that I didn’t keep the promise I made. I’m sorry that I didn’t keep a fuckton of promises I made. I’m trying. I really am. And I am going to keep trying with you.”

There were tears in Dick’s eyes. Tears, that spilled down his cheeks. They both knew he didn’t just talk to her, he talked to Jason as well. He hadn’t even visited the grave of his little brother yet. Just one other person to disappoint. 

When she put her hand on his, the warmth surprised him. It had been ages since someone touched him. He had forgotten how much he craved it.

“I am… I am not going to tell you that everything is okay or was okay. I wanted you ages ago, and you were gone. But… I understand. And I can live with you trying. Because honestly? You blame yourself so much you don’t need other people doing it for you, too.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I mean, have you seen your ass?”

With that a laugh mixed itself between his tears. He felt warm. Oh, so warm. There were people next to him. There was a strong woman in front of him. There was hope. 

The next months moved on in anecdotes. 

It was Dick calling Wally and Wally running into a wall because of excitement.

It was Donna and Roy holding an intervention in his apartment and burning all his ugly sweaters. 

(They weren’t ugly. You guys just don’t have taste)

It was Dick going flying with Kory. Again, and again. And it was Babs joining them, screaming the entire time.

It was movie nights at Titans Tower.

It was visiting the graves of his family with Barbara. It was seeing Jason’s grave for the first time and bursting into tears.

It was Dinah talking with him about guilt. About surviving and grieving and being a hero.

It was Dick and Babs falling into bed with each other, struggling, only for Dick to break down laughing because “Between the two of us we have one good leg”. It was Barbara laughing so hard that she cried. It was the two of them together.

It was Dick almost giving Superman a heart attack when the Man of Steel wished Dick good luck for a mission by saying “Break A Leg” and Dick answered “I sure hope not. I have only one left” without missing a beat. 

(And it was Wally laughing in the background)

It was getting newer and better prostheses and yet continue to learn to love his body without. It was being comfortable as just Dick Grayson.

It was talking to Alfred but never to Bruce.

It was becoming the hero Blüdhaven deserved.

It was becoming **NIGHTWING.**

Dick wanted to go to bed. It had been a long day. Being a bartender was hell for his foot and back. And he still planned on going out tonight. A quick shower would be great before, though, and all he would get. Bed had to wait.

But a knock on his door interrupted his efforts to ready NOPE. Instead he stashed his gear behind the couch again and made his way to the door. It was dark outside. Nobody in their right mind would conquer Blüdhaven at this time. Maybe it was one of his neighbors. 

A quick look through the spyhole told him a different story though: Outside stood a child he had never seen before.

He opened the door.

“How can I help you?”

The kid stared at him and for a moment Dick was unsure if he had scared him or not. The kid was tiny. He didn’t need to be frightened on top of it. But when the flood of words started to leave the kids mouth, Dick knew he didn’t need to fear for this child. At least not like that:

“Hello! My name is Tim Drake! I live next to Bruce Wayne. And… and I know that he is Batman. And that you are Nightwing. I followed you. At night, I mean. And not you directly, but like, the second Robin. And… Batman… Batman needs a Robin again. You have to return to Gotham. It needs you!”

Dick stared at the child. Stared at Tim Drake, who had just spilled the best kept secret in the world. 

“I am not going to be Robin again. That name is no longer mine.”

He would never be Robin again. Never fly next to Batman like that. But maybe it was time to grace Gotham with a visit. Maybe it was time to return to his home turf for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told this is maybe a quarter of the story I wanted to tell, but by the time today came around it had already reached this monstrous length. But imagine the continuation of this time line with Bruce and Dick starting to talk again and Under The Red Hood happening (if a bit differently). I also wanted to include Damian but maybe I'll write something about that at a later time. Thank you so much for reading! <3


	31. Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson has gotten many embraces in his life. Some are happy, some are sad, and some are a goodbye. Here are a few of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!   
GUYS! We did it! WE MANAGED 31 CHAPTERS!!!  
Can you believe? I certainly can't.   
I love all of you! One last special shout out to @barryallen_flarrow, @60sec400, @Eaglator23, @Gemini_Baby, and @Anbo! <3
> 
> This chapter is special because this chapter includes scenes from six different prior chapters! All of the chapters you asked me to write more of. And all of these include an embrace. But beware, not all of them are happy! 
> 
> Warnings: Major Character Injury, Comas, Different POVs, Major Character Death, Past-Sexual Assault

**5\. Gunpoint**

Damian snuck down into the Batcave long after Bruce had send him to bed. But Damian had to see for himself that Richard would be okay, that his big brother would wake up again.

In that moment back in the alley Damian hadn’t cared about the crooks and the mystery they had presented, all he could think about was that it was his fault that Richard got shot. It was his fault that his brother had almost died - could still die - and Damian had to make sure that he was still there. That Richard hadn’t suddenly vanished on him.

Father had been weird during the fight with the criminals and even more so on the way back to the Cave. It had been Drake who, which clear contempt in his eyes, had told Damian about the anniversary of his grandparents death. About how similar it had all had been.

And yet Damian still hadn’t cared about the mystery, only clutching Richard’s hand tighter whenever they had to slow down the car or drive a detour.

But they had arrived and Dr. Thompkins had been there, and Alfred. Then Father had send him and Drake to bed. Damian had fought him on that, but nothing could be done.

And now, hours after hours later, Damian sneaked back down. Nobody stopped him when he entered the cave and when he neared the medical bay he realized why.

Father had never left Richard’s side, sitting next to the hospital bed, holding his son's hand and sleeping. It felt wrong to see Richard so still and Father so human. It felt weirdly intimate, like something Damian didn’t understand but desperately wanted to.

He thought about turning back, about going back upstairs in his room and pretend nothing happened. But then he saw Dick shift in his bed and the decision was made for him.

With silent steps honed by both the League and Batman Damian moved towards the bed. Towards his brother. Who was awake. Barely, but awake. But when Damian wanted to shout in surprise, Richard stopped him with a slight shake of his head. Instead he gently patted the space next to him on the hospital bed.

Damian didn’t have to be a genius to understand just what his brother wanted from him. Normally he would decline. Normally such behavior would be unacceptable from the Demon’s Head. But today was not normal. Today he almost caused his brother to die.

So Damian tenderly climbed into the bed next to Richard, cautious to cause no further harm. He sighed in relief when a lopsided smile greeted him when he looked at Richard’s expression. Damian was still overly cautious when he laid down, his head resting on one of Richard’s arms.

It felt good to be surrounded by his Father and his big brother. It felt like a home he never knew. When Richard tightened his arm around him, hugging him a bit closer, Damian knew that he would sleep well that night. Damian knew that he was the safest he’d ever be.

**9\. Shackled**

Nothing they had tried had changed anything. They had called lawyers, and favors, and heroes. Well, Bruce and Alfred had, but those were the two most competed people Dick knew. And even they hadn’t had a chance against the corruption of the Blüdhaven Police Department.

Dick was going down. 

They would transfer him to Blackgate this afternoon and he had only Amy to thank for this last goodbye he was allowed. She knew he was innocent. And she knew that there was nothing else she could do.

Nothing besides this: Letting Bruce, Alfred, and Tim say goodbye. One last meeting before guards would watch them interact, before glass would separate them. One last chance for all of them to feel like this might be okay.

Dick had been numb since the day of his trial but actually standing here, in a small room far away from the buzz of the holding cells felt weirdly detached. It felt like a dream, more of a nightmare. Something horrible that only happened in novels. As if his entire life hadn’t been one tragedy after the other. 

But it felt as if his desolation was nothing in comparison to Bruce’s. His guardian had a stony look on his face and his hands had been hidden away, constantly being balled into fists. 

Alfred was of similar disposition. The butler hadn’t taken well to the ordeal of not being able to safe Dick from his own allies. And Dick hated it. Hated to harm his family like that.

It was Tim, tiny Tim, who started the process of saying goodbye. He hugged Dick tightly, whispered words on his lips:

“I promise you, Robin is going to safe you”

“I know”

Dick had to smile at the kid. Not because he was naive or innocent but because he understood what Jason had brought to the mantel: Robin was magic. He made the impossible possible.

Next up was Alfred, pulling Dick in a short but heartfelt embrace. And once again Dick was surprised by how strong Alfred was. This man was the backbone of the family, holding them all upright.

“I believe in you, Master Dick, and I believe that you will overcome this ordeal just like you overcame all those that came before. And we will be here for it”

“Thank you, Alfie”

Alfred took Tim by the hand and left. Left Dick alone with Bruce. Left Dick with one goodbye to go. One goodbye before prison. And like so often Dick was the one to start:

“I’m so so-”

“I should have been able to protect you and I wasn’t. And now I am going to make sure that you don’t spend a day longer in Blackgate than you have to. I promise. I will get you out”

Dick took a long look at his guardian, soaking up the rumbled suit, the dark shadows under his eyes, the beard starting to show. And he believed him. 

“I know. I’m going to wait for you”

Dick had been going for a lopsided grin, when Bruce surprised him by embracing Dick, pressing him close. There were tears in Dick’s eyes when he hugged Bruce back. He even imagined to see some in Bruce’s when they separated again.

A knock reminded them that their time was up. With one last pat on the shoulder, Bruce turned to leave:

“Look after yourself”

“You too, big guy, you too”

**13\. Adrenaline**

Dick sat the last box of his possessions down on the floor. His new apartment was on the top floor of a slightly shabby Blüdhaven apartment complex, overlooking this horrible city he had decided to call his home.

Behind him he could hear Barbara cleaning the kitchen and Jason and Alfred sorting through his boxes, while Wally was on a lunch run. There was life in this place. Life, he didn’t feel in his old apartment anymore.

No, his old place was one of terror, of nightmares, of horror. His old place was one nobody returned to.

After Barbara and Zatanna had saved him, Batman had come and taken him home. Dick didn’t really remember the days after. He just knew that he had been crying and screaming and fighting. With himself, with Bruce, with Alfred, with Jason.

And then he had started to heal. Talking to Black Canary helped, getting back a daily routine had helped, keeping contact with friends had helped. And even though he was on medical leave from the BPD, talking with Amy via phone had helped.

And look at him now! He had done it. He had built himself back up again. He had managed to climb out of a hole so deep, Dick forgot what the sky looked like for some time. But he did it.

So what if he still had nightmares of that voice made of shadow? So what if his heart raced whenever he got mail? So what if he called his friends daily just to make sure that he still could?

He was coping. And that was all he could hope for. It was all they could hope for in their line of work.

Barbara had been there for him and once again he remembered that before their romantic endeavors they had been best friends. That they would always be best friends.

The first time after it was over Wally had hugged him so long and so tight, Dick had feared for his lungs. But at the same time that had been the first moment after his rescue that he had felt completely safe.

Donna and Kory had embraced him from both sides and then they had flown over Gotham, Blüdhaven, North America and Dick had laughed as he could finally breath again.

Jason had snuggled with him at night - but he would deny it if asked - whenever it rained, reading his favorite classics to Dick while telling him how much better they would be if dinosaurs were in them.

Bruce had given him space, let him stay at the Manor, and gave him the room to heal. It was all Dick could ask for. It was the olive branch they needed.

And looking over the city now, told Dick one thing: He was cared for. He wasn’t alone.

He was ready.

**17\. “Stay With Me”**

Sitting on a bedside and sickbed became a routine after a while. It wasn’t the kind of routine Alfred welcomed. He liked the routine of slow mornings with all his birds still in bed while he prepared the house and breakfast. He liked the routine of summer afternoons, serving sweet tea and chatting with the gardener. 

He liked the routine of Christmas, of Hanukkah, of scolding his boys.

But he really didn’t like the routine of sitting watch on one of their sickbeds. Of counting their breaths. Of praying for salvation and hope.

And now he was waiting on Richard’s bedside at night while the rest of the family kept the streets safe. While the rest of his birds flew in danger.

He really didn’t know why he did this to himself. He had promised to finally leave quite often across the years. When he was still young and Master Thomas had made a jibe against the British. When the Wayne’s died and he suddenly inherited a child. When said child turned out to be as complicated as Bruce. When said child left him.

And yet he had never done it. And he would most certainly not start now. He was too old to leave. 

And Richard was too young to lie in a bed like this, connected to just as many machines as he was. It hurt Alfred to see it. And yet he would bear it for all of them if he could.

The last few days had been full of many ups and downs. From Alfred himself having to find Richard, to seeing him almost die multible times, to hearing the news that he would survive, to being confronted with this reality of a coma. 

All of them had started taking watch at his bedside then. But Alfred took the nights. Alfred watched over Richard, like the rest of them watched over Gotham. 

There was a tiredness in his bones that had nothing to do with his age and everything with the amount of bedsides that had Alfred worried at. It was a tiredness that made it hard to get out of bed some days. And yet he kept on doing it. 

He would always keep on doing it. Not only because it was his duty to Master Bruce, but also because of his love for each and every of these children and the hard lives they led.

If his waffles or _Pirogo_ or _Babka_ or _Kheer_ made them smile and forget how harsh the world was, then everything he had endured for them would be worth it. 

And currently his job was to keep watch.

Richard’s face had lost its color and the bruises under his eyes made Alfred want to sweep him up and into his bed at the Manor like he had done when the boy had been 9.

How the time flew by. Not only had Alfred watched Master Bruce grow up, no, he had seen each of the children Master Bruce brought home grow. He had seen Richard go from a scrawny, scared little boy to a confident, happy young man. He had seen Jason become a happy child, just to die and yet grow up. He had seen Cassandra leave her shell, Timothy learning to make place in the world for him, and Damian embracing the love he felt.

All of them had come so far. Alfred couldn’t be prouder. 

He looked at Richard again and thought of all the embraces the young child had shared with him and how much Alfred missed them now, no matter how un-proper they were. 

There was a twitch! Alfred knew he hadn’t just been seeing things. One of Richard’s eyelids had fluttered. There it was again!

Hope swelled Alfred’s heart. Finally, he had some good news to share with his family. They all so desperately needed it. Alfred maybe most off them all. 

He spend the night looking at Richard, taking in every small motion, every twitch and every shift. Every sign that this bird would return home. That one of their own was not yet lost. That the watching would soon be over.

**18\. Muffled Scream**

There was motion all around him but he didn’t dare look. His head was full of pain, full of the sensation of falling. He had missed it.

And then he crashed. Darkness claimed him. He didn’t fight it.

Only moments later something else brought him back. There was pain everywhere: His body, his side with the gunshot wound, his head. And everything was loud. Someone was yelling. Or multible someones. Dick wasn’t really sure if he cared.

“Fuck! Big Bird is down! Batgirl, go get him!”

He didn’t want to worry his family. They had to take care of themselves. It was no place for him.

“On it, Hood. But there are quite a few fuckers in the way!”

“My job. You get Big Bird!”

“Thanks, BB!”

Shuffling, a scream of pain. The world wanted to move away again. The world moved away and Stephanie reached him. It felt like a dream when she went down next to him, her hands finding his pulse point with an air of casualness even if nothing was causal about the motion.

“Pulse weak but steady. Gunshot wound to the abdomen, applying pressure now. I can’t say if there is any spinal damage”

“Copy”

“Batmobile on its way. Medical is ready for Robin and Nightwing. Any other casualties?”

That was Barbara’s voice over the comm unit. What was she doing here? Oracle was supposed to stay in her tower. Like Rapunzel. A sigh escaped Dick at that thought.

“Nightwing? Can you hear me? Big Bird?”

Dick tried to pry his eyes open. Bright light and something purple greeted him. He let them fall shut again and hummed instead.

“Nightwing is conscious. I repeat, Nightwing is conscious. Trying to access damage now”

There was a pause in Stephanie’s tone when she stopped talking to the comms and started talking to him:

“Hey, Big Bird. Can you move your fingers and toes? Does your neck or back hurt?”

He tried to follow her instructions but everything hurt. His toes had moved though, he was pretty sure at least. And his fingers twitched just now, when he tried to reach out to Steph.

“C- Can move… but hurts…”

Speaking was too much for him. His thorax wouldn’t expand how Dick wanted him to. At least a few broken ribs.

“I can imagine. Batgirl to O, Spinal injury unlikely but at least multible fractures on limbs and thorax.”

“Copy. Batmobile ETA 5 minutes”

Stephanie wanted to move again but Dick’s arm shot out against all odds and grasped her hand. He didn’t want to be alone right now. He had felt so young up there in the rafters, he needed someone to be there for him. He needed someone to hug him.

“St-ay please…”

“’Course, Big Boy”

And with that Steph sifted closer behind him, elevating him carefully until she could embrace him lightly. Dick sighted. The panic was ready to die down.

“I’m gonna stay with you while Black Bat kicks ass, and takes names!”

Dick couldn’t even comprehend how grateful he was.

“Lil’ D?”

“Safe with Hood. In much the same state you are in. But stable. It’s gonna be okay”

Dick really was grateful. When he drifted off this time he didn’t have to fear. He knew things would turn out okay.

**19\. Asphyxiation**

Consciousness was a slow thing to come by. Sometimes Dick thought he heard something, while other times touch would ghost his limbs, gone long before Dick could reach for it. But no matter what happened, he couldn’t shake the darkness completely. 

But with each laps of awareness the breach into the land of the living seemed to grow closer, more achievable. Like now, where his body still refused him command, still locked him inside, but at least for a bit everything was clear enough to understand.

“Why isn’t he awake yet, Pennyworth?”

Damian. That was Damian, his kid. His son.

“I am afraid Master Richard was without oxygen for a notable amount of time, and now his brain is affected. But he should come around, like I told you the last five times you asked, Master Damian”

Pennyworth… that was Alfred, wasn’t it? Why did his son call Alfred by his last name? And who had been without oxygen? 

It was all to confusing. Dick let himself be sucked down into the stream darkness flowing into nothing. It was silent down there. And so much less confusing.

The next time he became aware of things, something soft was lying on his side, face pressed against Dick’s side, breathing relaxed. If he really concentrated he could even make out voices, even if his brain refused to match faces with them:

“And the Demon Brat hasn’t left his side since you found him?”

“No. He refused to leave even when Alfred threatened him with no more food. The kids attached. Can’t say I blame him”

“What’s the verdict? Is he gonna be okay?”

“The Brat or Dickiebird? Alf said we should start to worry if Dick doesn’t pull it together soon. Each day unconscious makes permanent brain damage more likely. Not what anyone needs right now”

“He’s gonna do it. It’s freaking Nightwing. There is nothing that’s impossible for him”

“Yeah, he’s gonna fly again”

Dick knew that Nightwing guy. Real hero, that one. But his thoughts slipped away from him before he could ask himself what these men had meant. Why they sounded so familiar. Why it felt as if one voice was missing.

When consciousness finally graced him again, Dick managed to pry his eyes open. It was dark around him and there was a mask on his face but his focus was on something else: On the kid pressed against his side. On his kid holding Dick in a tight embrace. 

His arm didn’t really want to follow his brain’s command and yet he forced it around his son’s shoulder. It would be alright. It had to be.

There was a smile on his lips when he went back to sleep.

**23\. Bleeding Out**

Bruce knew he was too late when he reached the roof. He didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to call out to his sons to know. Because he saw.

He saw the stillness of Dick’s body, saw the blood on the floor, saw the trembling shoulder’s of Damian. Saw the shame and the horror and the grief pouring out of his youngest. A youngest who no longer had an eldest.

His son was dead. Again. Only this time for real.

Dick was dead. Dick was dead, killed by a mind controlled Damian.

By his blood son - what idiocracy! - who currently cradled Dick against his chest. By Damian who embraced the body of his brother like he might bring him back to life.

Cautiously Bruce stepped closer, afraid he would simply fall if he didn’t do something. Afraid that it was all real.

But stepping closer only broke his heart further. Damian clutched Dick’s hand with the ferocity of a dying man. But what really hurt Bruce were the words he heard his son utter:

“Please, stay. I love you, Richard. I love you. Stay. I love you, too. Haven’t you heard, Richard? I love you. Why don’t you answer. Stay. Please”

His knees gave out. He fell down next to his sons. One dead, the other dying of heartbreak. Bruce was not far behind. For once he used his bulk not for violence, but for embracing both of his kids. For hugging the body of his oldest and the broken form of his youngest.

He was pretty sure that Damian didn’t even realize that he was here.

Bruce didn’t want to think about what would happen if he just lost not one, but two of his kids. He wouldn’t be strong enough. And he knew Alfred wouldn’t either. Or Tim. Jason. Cass. Barbara.

His children had touched so many people and once again it was upon Bruce to tell the world that one of them had died.

He pressed them both close, tried to get a last bit of what Dick had all been about, but the stench of blood covered everything else up.

Bruce couldn’t lose himself in the death of Dick. He had to make sure, he had to spend everything he had, on making sure that Damian wouldn’t follow his favorite person. Because Bruce had no illusion who that was. Or had been.

His grief wanted to swallow him too, but for the first time in his life, Bruce wouldn’t let it. For the first time in his life, Bruce choose to live instead of going down the dark path.

He pressed his lips against his sons hair. First Dick, as a goodbye, then Damian, as a promise: He wouldn’t lose another son. He would make sure of that.

**27\. Ransom**

Steph was Batgirl, not some superhuman. 

Her job was to keep Gotham safe and to annoy Robin. Hell, she spend more time on her day job of going to college than she did on wearing spandex and beating up criminals. 

And yet here she was, running around Gotham, searching for Batman and Robin while Oracle’s frantic voice gave her directions. Red Hood was doing the same, just coming from a different direction. Black Bat had come too.

(Nobody knew where Tim was. Steph tried not to worry. She failed.)

Steph still couldn’t believe this had happened. That Damian and Dick had just been kidnapped. Not the Big Bat and his angry sidekick, no, nice Dick and his grumpy brother. And no one had a clue where they were.

No matter what Barbara did, she couldn’t find them. And Steph knew just how much that grated Oracle’s nerves. Nobody evaded her and now some low life managed to hide her ex and his kid from her. 

Fuck, Stephanie was angry too.

But her anger had to wait. All she could do instead was run across the city and hope that the location those assholes had broadcasted was real, that they finally had a lead. That they weren’t too late.

Steph jumped down from the building she was currently crouching on. In front of her stood a warehouse, surprisingly enough not in the harbor of Gotham. Instead it was an old building in a better part of town, currently under construction. From what Stephanie understood, the building firm wanted to turn it into something with a rustic style. Which meant it looked disgusting and like something directly from the lower parts of Gotham.

There wasn’t a single soul in the building when she scouted it and she could feel her heart sinking. What if this wasn’t the right one? Would Dick and Damian die just because of her? She couldn’t deal with that kind of stress. Never could, never would. Not as Spoiler, not as Robin, and certainly not as Batgirl.

She went in anyway.

It didn’t take long for her to find the door leading to the cellar rooms. With each step down the stairs her heart beat faster. With each step she fought the nausea. She wasn’t ready to find two corpses.

And thank god, she didn’t. Instead she found two unconscious forms. The bigger one cradling the smaller. Dick and Damian.

“I FOUND THEM! HELP! FAST!”

She really hoped that the others were near enough. She really hoped they heard her and came and helped. Because when Steph knelt down next to them, she could see how shallow their breaths were, how faint their pulse. 

Her comms cracked to life:

“Red Hood, ETA 2 minutes. Status?”

“Black Bat, ETA 3″

“Unconscious. I think drugged. Breathing is shallow. Pulse fading. Hurry up. Please”

She crowed down and pulled Damian into her lap, elevating him in the hopes of making breathing easier. And to make sure he was still there. He was so small, when he didn’t scream or fight. He was just a child. She pressed him against her chest. Her other hand dangling in Dick’s hair, stroking it. 

She tried to give them all the comfort she had. Tried to get comfort out of their still forms. 

Her motions never stopped, not even when Jason and Cass burst into the room and took over the situation. She just let them.

They would take care of Damian and Dick. Steph would have done her part. But when she tried to get away, Cass stopped her. She took Steph’s hand and squeezed it.

“Good job. Come to hospital with us. Dick always happy to see people”

And Steph smiled. She smiled as she helped Cass and Jason ready Damian and Dick for transport, and she smiled when they delivered them to Gotham Memorial. They would survive. They would be alright.

And Steph would be there to see it. Because she was Batgirl and Batgirl was always where she was needed. Because she was needed. And what was Batman without a Batgirl on his side?


End file.
